


The Phases of Fire

by orphan_account



Category: The Silence of the Lambs, The X-Files
Genre: F/F, Murder Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 11:29:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 67,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9894278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Seven years after the events of "The Silence of the Lambs," Clarice Starling partners up with Dana Scully on the trail of a serial killer.Spoilers: Obviously all of "The Silence of the Lambs." Through Season Five of "The X-Files." (It's set right after the events of "The End" and before the events of the film "Fight the Future.") There are also references of Patricia Cornwell's Kay Scarpetta mysteries.





	1. Part I - Embers

**_The phases of fire are craving and satiety. -- Heraclitus of Ephesus c. 540 BC_ **

* * *

**_Quantico_ ** **_, Virginia_ **

_Black... blacker than night... blacker than velvet... a darkness so complete that it could only exist in a dream... Or in the mind of madness... She ran, faster harder farther... her breath a ragged pant in her ears, louder than the sound of her footsteps crashing through the darkness. Pursuit was not far behind, and the best she could do was to keep running, keep fleeing... until her heart burst..._

_Or the madness caught up with her at last..._

With a strangled scream, Clarice Starling sat bolt upright in her narrow bed. The sheets were a sodden, tangled mass around her waist, and the blankets had been tossed to the floor in the nightly struggle with the wraiths of her sleep. She could see the shadows now... which was how she knew she wasn't still dreaming. No, God help her, she was finally awake.

"Fuck."

Running a shaky hand through dark hair matted with perspiration, she glanced at the dully glowing red clock resting on her night stand-- 2:17am. Groaning low in her throat, she extricated herself from the sheets and found her way to the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light as she passed.

Turning the sink's cold water faucet all the way on, she held her wrists under the pounding stream until the thundering pulse points cooled beneath her skin. Then she cupped her hands together and splashed the water generously over her face, letting the icy rivulets stream unstopped across her bare shoulders. The face that stared back at her in the mirror was austere... the years had eaten away the soft curves of her youth, until she was nothing but stark angles and lines... with a pair of painfully brilliant blue eyes staring out of its center. Ardelia used to call her "beautiful," but Starling doubted that even her old friend and lover could do that now. With an easy, practiced movement, she twisted the damp hair off her face, securing it into a pony-tail. Shrugging on an old denim shirt, she padded out into the tiny galley kitchen of her apartment.

She didn't think of this place as "home," even though it held clothes, a computer-- things that were "hers." Given who she was and how she spent her life, Starling had never really understood the concept of "home." Her career... her job... her life... meant invading those places... sorting through the things once held dear and hoping for some hint to help understand the horror that had befallen their owners. By the time Starling reached a residence, it was a crime scene or a last known address.

Anything but a home.

Opening the pantry, she studied the half-full bottle of Jack Daniels resting at eye level on the shelf and opted instead for the package of Swiss Miss hot chocolate mix sitting beside it. She set a panful of milk to warm on the stovetop and sat down at the table, thumbing through the work she had brought home.

Hot chocolate and crime scene photographs.... It might seem incongruous at best, a sickening parody of domesticity at worst... but Starling had no prying eyes to question her nocturnal habits. She hadn't for a long time.

Not since Ardelia.

They had met and become lovers at the Academy, before she had been indoctrinated into the cult. Before she had become the High Priestess of the Macabre. They had called her boss, Jack Crawford, "the guru," and spoke of him in hushed, reverent tones reserved for the Wisest of the Wise. Now they wanted her to ascend to that position... to run NCAVC and teach at the Academy all she had learned in her caliginous travels.

Starling had seen Jack Crawford destroyed by his wife's death and Hannibal Lecter's last game, watched his successor John Douglas sell out to the media and hush his demons with money and celebrity, and-- most recently-- mourned Benton Wesley with Kay and Lucy when he was murdered by yet another monster they couldn't catch.

She rebelled against that fate... preferring to remain at large, working cases, hip-deep in the horror... because deep inside she knew that if stepped back for a single minute from the way she spent her life... there was a very good chance that she would surrender to the insanity that hounded her even now in her dreams. As long as she didn't have anything to contrast to the way she lived... then she could convince herself that being able to tiptoe around in the minds of monsters and to commune effortlessly with evil was, in fact, normal.

Starling had loved Ardelia... known that as surely as she knew that her heart beat and her lungs breathed in the oxygen that gave her life... but the base instinct to love, to caress, to hold dear hadn't translated into a relationship. She clung deep into the night to her lover's strong body and used the passion they shared to return her from the atramentous depths she traveled in search of the monsters.

_"I can't do this, Clarice..." Ardelia had finally told her one long, sweating night. She had been transferred to Atlanta as part of the new division of the National Computer Crime Squad, and Clarice had come to see her on her way back from a crime scene in Birmingham. The case had turned out to be a wild goose chase, not part of the string of murders she was obsessed with at all, but she had given them a quick profile and pointed them in the direction of the real killer without too much difficulty. It was so easy to tell the difference now-- between the workings of the insane and those of the truly evil. If Starling had stopped to think about that statement... it should have frightened her beyond all reason. As it was, she was just wanted Ardelia-- wanted her skin in her hands, her taste in her mouth. "Clarice... stop..." Ardelia had pushed her away, even though Starling could smell the rising desire between them, hear it in the ragged harshness of her lover's voice._

_"What's wrong, Del?" She gazed into the soft caramel eyes of her lover and found a stranger there._

_"I don't want to do this," she repeated, pushing away from Starling's half-clothed body and searching the room for something to cover herself._

_Clarice crossed her arms over her bare breasts and regarded Ardelia with an arched brow. "Maybe you could have mentioned it a little sooner," she said pointedly, trying to catch her breath._

_"You didn't exactly give me time," Ardelia retorted. She sighed heavily and tugged on a pair of FBI sweats that lay tossed over her ten-speed. "Look, Clarice. I love you... but I can't live like this. Watching you slip further and further away. Every time you catch one of those bastards it eats away another part of the person I love." She ran her hands through her disordered hair, her face aching with pain as she regarded the slim form of her lover. "When was the last time you laughed, Clarice? When was the last time we went out to dinner or did something stupid like go to the movies? Or just held hands and watched the TV?"_

_Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Starling pinched the line of tension rising behind her eyes. "Exactly when am I supposed to do this, Del? I've got six hours before I have to be in Quantico to attend a postmortem. I've got four case files sitting on my desk, and I'm hoping to God that none of the UNSUBs involved decides to go on a bender before I can catch up with their paperwork. Did I mention that Benton Wesley just resigned? That means that there's no one running the Investigative Support Unit and no one's in charge of NCAVC." She took a deep breath and looked at her lover, blue eyes flaring in outrage. "I don't have time to hold your goddamned hand. And if I did, they'd probably run us both out of the goddamned FBI. Jesus, Del, that's what they did to Lucy. Is that what you want to happen?"_

_Ardelia stared at her. "I can think of worse things."_

_"I can't." The words were out and gone before Starling had even realized she had spoken them. Two words that were irrevocable and unalterable. The one constant Starling had always counted on had now vanished._

_"Then I guess there's nothing really left to say," Del replied flatly, her eyes darkening and turning away. "Good-bye, Clarice."_

Over a year had passed since that conversation. Ardelia had been the only lover Clarice had ever taken, the only one she had allowed to see even a hint of the fear, pain and terror that nibbled away at the edges of her psyche. Though her body ached for contact, for the feel of hot slick hands inside her... the adjustment hadn't been too bad. Crawford had called her the only true Stoic he had ever known... and she had known then by his tone that it wasn't a compliment. But life went on. Mourning over something she couldn't have, a life she could never live, wouldn't accomplish anything.

Returning her attention to something more productive, she glanced through the photos of the dead women... girls, really... sitting on her kitchen table. If there was one constant in her work, it was the seemingly unending supply of young, pretty women who fell prey to the evil that stalked them. Had she been of a more philosophical bent, Starling might have considered the inevitable attraction of evil to good, but right now all she saw were four dead young girls and the waste of their lives.

Four months, four deaths....

They were all found in secluded areas... in the rain. The death site was not the crime site, and the girls had been posed, as if the UNSUB knew they would be discovered quickly. Little or no trace evidence had been found, and the time between death and discovery of the corpse usually varied.

Somebody in the office had pegged it early on as a lunar cycle... but Starling had done some digging and found a couple of other cases, three and six months back respectively that looked a lot like their guy. A very similar MO with a distinctive geographical progression. He was headed straight towards her. What she didn't know for sure if these two earlier cases were tied in... which would mean he was beginning to unravel and decompensate as the killings came closer and closer together to satisfy his cravings-- much like Bundy did before Chi Omega. Or if it was indeed someone who was just getting started.

If the same UNSUB was responsible for all six deaths, he had remained remarkably consistent and controlled throughout what was presumably a collapse of the last vestiges of his mind. And that made Starling uneasy. On the other hand, if he was only responsible for the four deaths in the last four months, he showed an equally remarkable control, with none of the hesitation marks or panic usually evident in the first kills.

_Great... I get my choice... bad or worse...._

The shrill ringing of the phone interrupted her musings, and with a quiet sigh she picked the cordless up, clicking on the receiver.

"Starling."

Years of working with Clarice Starling had taught her team members that early-morning phone calls rarely awakened their boss. An early nickname, given to her by the press following the Bill case and the revelations of her conversations with Lector, had been Bride of Dracula, which of course, metamorphosed itself into Vampirella as Starling's late night wanderings became known. "We've got another one. Blue Ridge Mountains, just outside of Asheville. Chopper's waiting at Quantico."

"I'm there." Starling clicked the phone off and ducked into her bedroom, grabbing the eternally packed kit that always sat by the bedroom door. It was the first thing she did every time she came back to Virginia. Unpack the kit, remove the dirty clothes and replace them with fresh. Taking the time to pack when a chopper was waiting was a waste of vital time. She dressed in layers, knowing that it was probably raining in North Carolina-- if it was their guy, and if he remained consistent. First thick, well-worn khakis that wouldn't feel nearly as uncomfortable as jeans once they were soaked through with rain. Then a T-shirt, a long-sleeved dark blue corduroy shirt, then an FBI windbreaker for good measure. Study Timberland hiking boots-- one of four pairs she owned-- fit comfortably on her feet. Her gun and ID were the last things she clipped into place, and she grabbed an FBI baseball cap on her way out just to keep the hair out of her face.

She left her apartment in darkness, the rooms as silent as they had been when she was there.

* * *

**_FBI_ ** **_Academy_ ** **_Quantico, Virginia_ **

The wind blew restlessly around Starling as she jogged over to the helipad, the whirling rotors filling her ears with their roar. In the floodlights surrounding her, she made out the familiar form of Evan Tellis, her favorite chopper pilot, sitting comfortably in the front of the army helicopter. He turned around and grinned, giving her a thumbs up as she clambered aboard. As her eyes adjusted to the sudden dimness of the chopper's interior, she realized that she wasn't alone.

As if aware of the sudden scrutiny, the woman looked up and Starling could see-- even in the uncertain light-- that the pale blue eyes glimmering back at her bore no traces of sleep. A tiny puddle of light from the overhead compartment revealed the woman's hair to be a burnished red, framing an oval face that had a strong air of intelligence and stubborness about it. A small laptop sat on her knees, and her fingers were poised over the keys as she gazed evenly back at Clarice, who had a sudden inexplicable urge to apologize for interrupting. She wore a darkly elegant black trenchcoat that made Starling feel clumsy and awkward in her FBI hat and bright blue windbreaker.

They hung suspended in each other's glance-- blue gazing upon blue endlessly-- until the stranger broke the tableau by closing her laptop. Offering a slim-fingered hand, she smiled. "Hi, I'm Dana Scully. You must be Starling."

\---------------------------------

The roar of the chopper made conversation almost impossible, but by taking the seat beside Scully, they were at least able to hear each other.

"Who are you? And why are you here?" Starling tried to keep her voice light. She always worked alone, everybody knew that. A full support team worked behind her, but whenever she went out to a site, she always did so alone.

It was easier to talk to the demons that way....

Scully looked slightly nonplussed, irritated that the woman beside her had been unaware of her arrival. _Another long winded explanation... Thanks Skinner..._ she thought silently. Since the X-Files had been shut down, both she and Mulder had been shuttled from department to department, case-to-case. Nobody, it seemed wanted them, or their eclectic talents. Both she and Mulder had been working unfettered for so long that the stolid hierarchies of the other departments drove them crazy, and in turn made the other agents view them as something close to loose cannons. At least it was true in Mulder's case... her own reputation seemed more or less intact-- surprising after having spent five years with "Spooky" in the basement-- but at least other departments seemed willing to accept her at face value. She supposed she had her eternal skepticism to thank. What most people didn't realize is that at the end-- it had been Mulder who had lost his faith in their mission.

Still, the resentment that she faced as Mulder's partner-- filtered though it was-- was wearing to the agent, and she found herself drifting back into the medical end of her skills. That meant more time at the Academy. Seeing the fresh-faced young students, with their serious demeanors and earnest desire to serve their country reminded Scully of her own days, before she discovered the cynicism and the corruption that infested the Agency. Before the cancer had discovered her and shadowy men had made her their victim. She had survived-- hurt, barren, and scarred-- but alive. The conspiracies she had faced had ruthlessly disabused her of her ideals and faith; the disease and trials had carved away the softness of her face, the curve of her hips... until she was as lean and sleek as a racing hound, with the haunted eyes of one who had endured a cruel master.

She had been asked to teach a pathology course at the Academy for the spring, and she was seriously considering staying on. Scully was at a cross-roads. While she had used the weeks at Quantico to try and regain some inner peace that she so desperately needed, the last five years had instilled in her a love of the hunt that seriously rivaled Mulder's. She just didn't know if she could go back to the safe, but confining, life that the laboratory and teaching theater promised.

When Clarice Starling's request for an FBI pathologist had come to her attention, she had been unable to resist the lure. Although the NCAVC was in a bit of a leadership crisis, her offer of assistance had been accepted with alacrity. Scully had only assumed that whatever powers-that-were had informed Starling.

Obviously, judging from Starling's surprised and slightly irritated expression, this wasn't the case.

"You requested a FBI pathologist to follow up on the four previous cases and any future ones," Scully offered diffidently.

Starling pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I did. But that means I shouldn't see you until the decedant makes it to autopsy. What are you doing here?"

There was a slight, but unmistakable, edge to her voice that raised the hackles on the back of Scully's neck. She knew all about Starling-- or at least the version that FBI gossip put out-- and having experienced the effects of the poisonous grapevine herself, she knew a lot of that had to be dismissed with the proverbial grain of salt. However, Starling's accomplishments couldn't be denied... nor could her solitary persona. Scully had never heard of anyone partnering up with the woman the kind gossips called "Mindwalker" and those not so charitably inclined called "Vampirella." Scully smiled icily. "I've spent the last five years out in the field. There's a lot that the death scene can tell you that the autopsy room can't. I assume you DO want to catch this guy."

The message was loud and clear to Starling: _Back the hell off and let me do my job..._

\--------------------------------------

Starling studied the classic profile of the woman beside her and absorbed the well-modulated timbre of her voice, Lecter's voice echoing in her head...

_You know what you look like with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube... A well-scrubbed hustling rube... With a little taste. Good nutrition has given you some length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash...._

Lecter would have never described Dana Scully that way...

No doubt he would have spoken of her in rapturous tones, invoking Modigliani or Rosetti to explain the pale glow of her skin, the perfect curve of her red hair. The glittering intelligence in those blue eyes would have fascinated him, pulled him into an exchange with her...

Just as it did Starling.

"What's a pathologist doing working in the field?" A half-grin played over Starling's face, indicating that Scully's message had been received and understood. "I thought they kept you guys locked away at Quantico."

Scully nodded almost imperceptibly, accepting Starling's unspoken detente. "I started out there after I finished my Academy training, but the next year I was assigned to the X-Files." She held her breath, as if waiting for dramatically lifted brows, suppressed chuckle, or the exclamation of disbelief to accompany her revelation.

Instead, Clarice Starling only nodded. "How is Fox? I heard they shut you guys down, but I didn't realize you were his partner."

Scully stared dumbly at the agent for a moment before recovering. "You know Mulder?"

Starling shrugged. "Not really. He was just leaving NCAVC-- well, back then it was Behavioral Sciences-- as I graduated the Academy. Jack Crawford thought the world of him in spite of his..." she hesitated, "...Unusual... career choices. He hated to see Fox go. Several of his profiles are part of the core curriculum at the Academy. No matter what you think of his extra-terrestrial obsessions, you have to respect his accomplishments."

As Scully smiled-- the first genuine one Starling had seen from the agent-- Clarice noticed the way it reached up into her eyes, seeming to heighten the already lucently vivid blue there. Slowly, the pathologist shook her head. "Your attitude is rare. Most people..."

"People think he's a freak," Starling said bluntly. "I understand that. Those same people think I'm a freak too."

"But you're not," Scully objected, looking at the collected visage of Clarice Starling-- the clenched set of her jaw, the sharp lines of her face. Only her eyes-- that looked almost eternal in their weariness-- gave evidence of the things she had seen. This woman seemed reassuringly sane-- almost unbelievably so.

Clarice laughed ruefully. "Oh yes I am. So is he. Fox and I are a lot alike. From what I've seen and heard, I think there might be only one real difference between us."

"And what is that?" Scully asked, intrigued in spite of herself.

Starling glanced out the window at the darkness beyond. "He thinks evil is out there somewhere..." She tapped the window. "Brought down upon all of us innocents." Starling sighed heavily, the exhaustion of her sleepless nights sinking in unexpectedly. "Unfortunately, my experience has taught me otherwise."

Scully leaned closer to hear the words falling softly from Clarice's lips. "And where do you think it lives?"

Starling smiled tiredly and gently touched the place over Scully's heart and then her own. "In here."

* * *

**_Blue Ridge Mountains_ ** **_, North Carolina_ **

The rest of the hour-long chopper ride had been a quiet one. An unspoken détente had been reached, pending-- Scully suspected-- what Starling thought of her performance in the field. She felt a little like she was back to square one, having to prove herself to Mulder, and that annoyed the pathologist no end. She was five years older, five years wiser... and no one could take away the things she had learned. No matter what Clarice Starling thought, Scully knew she was a damn good agent-- maybe one of the best the Bureau had....

_So why do I feel like a rookie fresh out of the Academy? she asked herself ruefully._

Maybe it had something to do with Starling's reserved, but nonetheless commanding, presence. Instead of leaping out of the chopper and shouting directions as most agents would do, she listened quietly as they drove to the scene to the local trooper's report of how the body had been discovered.

"It was around 8:30 last night," the Smokey earnestly explained. He looked painfully young, the shell-shocked expression still in his eyes hours after he had viewed the body. "There's lots of hiking trails just off the main highway, and a couple of folks had stopped to take the short trail that led down to the river."

Scully frowned. "What we're they doing hiking at 8:30 at night?"

"Well, ma'am, it doesn't really get dark this time of year until after nine..." He smiled sheepishly. "And it's kind of a romantic spot down there..." The reddened flush of his cheeks indicated he had first-hand knowledge of this little tidbit.

Scully and Starling exchanged bemused glances.

"So they were hiking down the trail..." Starling prompted as they arrived at the scene and clambered out of the car, still listening to the young officer's story.

"Yes, ma'am. And they said they could see..." Stumbling over the memory of what he had seen, he cleared his throat and tried again. "They said they could see her clearly from the trail. Plain as anything."

"Ritual," Starling muttered so low Scully barely heard her and the Smokey remained oblivious. "What happened then?"

"One of 'em-- I think it was the guy, he had a cell phone and called 911. They got us up here, and we called the county folks. They're the ones that called you I think."

"Not exactly standard procedures for a county sheriff to call the Bureau," Scully murmured to her new ad hoc partner.

"We've got us a hot dog." Starling grinned at her in glee. "Somebody plugged the details of the crime scene into VICAP, got a hit."

Scully arched a dubious eyebrow as she clambered down the steep incline with Starling. "Here?" In the middle of nowhere with a Smokey who looks like he should be doing Clearasil commercials instead of carrying a gun?

"It's the electronic age, Scully." She shrugged blandly. "All you need's one of those little laptops like yours and you can do just about anything." A particularly narrow part of the trail thrust the women together, and Starling's hand shot out to steady the pathologist. "Careful. It's slippery."

Scully grimaced as she regained her balance, cursing her worn boots softly. "Yeah, and my Timberlands are about shot. I keep meaning to replace them, but..."

"Too much time in the teaching theater," Starling replied dryly, but the quiet gleam in her eye belied the comment. She had taken in the pathologist's well-cut trousers and thick cotton shirt with an approving glance. Scully was obviously no stranger to the field, and she moved along the uneven terrain with a practiced air-- her slick hiking boots notwithstanding. Starling felt her anxiety level drop a notch in the face of the other agent's obvious familiarity with their circumstances.

For her part, Scully merely arched a contemplative brow and continued her trek along the pathway.

It didn't take much to reach the site-- the place was floodlit with spots to ward off the shadows of the coming dawn. Starling immediately noticed a dapper man in completely impractical shoes pacing impatiently at the scene's edge. She nudged the pathologist. "I'll bet you dinner tonight that's our hot-dog."

Scully snorted. "No argument there. He looks like a poster child for an episode of _Miami Vice_."

"Well, let's see what our boy has to say," Starling replied. "At least he had the smarts to use VICAP, most local people don't."

"That's because most local departments barely have the money to keep their officers on the street. Forget about computers and training." An enthusiastic disciple of the cult of technology, Scully had little patience for those who saw computers as an instrument of Satan and the coming Y2K problem as the first sign of the Apocalypse. "They just don't see it as important."

Starling smothered a smile at the quiet irritation in Scully's voice. She nodded in the detective's direction. "You want to talk to him while I take a walk around the scene? Then we can switch?"

Although the statement was framed as a question, there was no mistaking the tone of authority in Starling's voice. Scully suspected that the command had less to do with her own capabilities and much more to do with Starling's preference for working alone. It only made sense that she would want her first impressions of the scene to be unsullied by an unfamiliar partner's presence.

"No problem," she acceded gracefully, noting-- but not commenting-- on the relief in the other woman's pale blue eyes.

Starling nodded with a tight, controlled gesture, her eyes already scanning the coldly lit area around her. Her mind dismissed Scully, who sighed softly and shook her head as she watched her new partner absorb her surroundings.

\---------------------------------

_"Such a clever girl, Clarice. You're so close to the way you're going to catch him..."_

Lecter had taught her the first rule-- simplicity. Everything she needed to catch her killer was right in front of her. She just had to see it. Starling prowled silently at the edges of the scene, getting a feel for the portrait the killer wanted to paint. Over the years she had seen cops and agents go immediately to the body-- as if held the only evidence of consequence. But vital information was all around them-- in the choice of the location, in the position of the body, in the pattern of disturbed plants on the ground.

Spring was nibbling gently at the edges of these Carolina foothills. The days were sunny and warm, but the nights were still cool. And while the hour of the false dawn wwas the coolest time of all, the shiver that ran down Starling's spine had nothing to do with the weather.

The harsh floodlights made the crime scene eerily reminiscent of all the latest Hollywood blockbusters. According to the movies, there were only two kinds of men-- cops and killers. And only one kind of women-- victims, all. Unfortunately for the the young woman that this corpse used to be-- when those floodlights were turned off, she wasn't going to get up, wipe off the makeup, and go home.

The portrait before her was almost boring in its repetitive familiarity. The body lay on its back, knees up and legs spread in a grotesque parody of the missionary position. The base of a currently unidentifiable object-- which Starling knew from the UNSUB's last victims would turn out to be an all-too common sex toy-- protruded from the dead girl's vaginal opening. Her hands had been cut off and neatly placed just to the right of the victim's head. Her left breast had also received similar treatment and now resided in the victim's mouth. There was a significant lack of blood at the scene-- indicating that the UNSUB had either killed his victim elsewhere, or that the injuries had been inflicted postmortem. Judging from the lack of disturbance in the foliage and the open nature of the area, Starling feared that the girl hadn't been spared any pain.

It was a picture she had gone to sleep with the last three months... the live memories of the scenes she had visited mingled seamlessly with the photos she studied, posted to her task board, and left sprawled carelessly around her kitchen table. She lived with those girls now, and their faces were among those who silently bore witness to her dreamscape's flight. They were legion now... never joining the pursuit, never questioning why she ran... and they were eternally silent....

Catching Bill had silenced the screaming-- Lecter was right about that much. But it hadn't sent them away. Now as they watched, each victim's face bore witness to her own suffering, just as she had seen and re-lived theirs.

By rights they should have offered her some sort of peace, of comfort-- at least Clarice had brought their killers to judgment-- but they did nothing of the sort. Instead they watched her-- not with the vacant, staring eyes of death-- but with the vibrant blues and browns and greens that they had possessed in life. And did nothing. They watched her run... heard her gasping for breath... and, more rarely, scream... Still they did nothing.

Another pair of eyes were regarding her now-- she could feel their cool focus-- and she turned to find Dana Scully's gaze fixed upon her unwaveringly. Instead of the ghoulish anticipation that she had seen mirrored in so many other people's glance, Scully's eyes held only a detached professionalism that was oddly reassuring to Starling.

She crossed the few steps that separated her from her new partner. "How's it going?" Scully asked in a low tone.

"It's our guy," she replied without hesitation, only fleetingly wondering how it so quickly became their case and not hers alone.

"You're sure."

"Dead bang."

A impatient clearing of the throat brought Starling's attention to the hovering detective in the impractical shoes. "Clarice Starling, this is Robert Merriam."

"Agent Starling--" He pumped her offered hand enthusiastically. "You're the SAC? Boy, you guys move quick. It couldn't have been more than an hour after I got the VICAP hit that I got a call you were en route."

The jargon-- and Scully's wry smile-- clued Starling in to a thing or two. Merriam had ambitions, and he saw this case as a means to achieve these ambitions. "Agent Scully and I are working the case, yes," she answered noncommittally.

"Was I right?"

"On the surface it seems to match a pattern of recent homicides, yes. Agent Scully is a pathologist and she'll be able to tell more about the specific circumstances of death. Until then, we really can't say."

His clear, angular features frowned in serious agreement. "I understand," he intoned, although he clearly didn't. "I just want to keep apprised of the situation."

 _He just wants to make sure he gets any credit due..._ Starling thought to herself, but without guys like this, her job would be twice as hard. Taking a deep breath, she smiled at him. "Of course you do. I appreciate the call. It was some fast thinking to feed it into VICAP. I can't thank you enough."

He flushed under the quiet praise, and Starling saw just how young he was. _Doesn't this town have any adults?_ she wondered, looking from the detective to the Smokey to the young couple who sat miserably in the back of the Sheriff's SUV police vehicle. "Those the witnesses?" she asked, more to Scully that Merriam. She would read the detective's report later and confer with Scully about what she had learned from him, but right now her attention was on the scene and those who had first stumbled upon it.

Scully glanced down at her notes. "Sally Hughes and Darrell Patrick." She paused. "They're pretty shaken up. You want to go talk to them?" She tucked the small notebook away and pulled a pair of latex gloves from the same pocket. "I'll take a look over here." Before pulling the gloves on, she rain a hand through her damp hair, pushing it off her forehead. The drizzle had stopped, and the air around them was fragrant with the earthy smells of life and-- Scully thought sadly-- death. "If you've seen everything you need to, I'll finish up with the site so we can get her out here."

Her-- not the body-- Scully was beginning the long process of restoring the dead girl's humanity, and Starling nodded her assent with grateful eyes.

As she studied the lean figure of her new partner striding confidently to the site, a dawning thought warmed Starling's chilled skin... _This might just work out, after all..._

* * *

 

**_Motel 6 Asheville, North Carolina_ **

The only thing Dana Scully wanted right now was a long hot bath and a glass ...or three... of wine. Though she had told Starling she would "finish up with the site," the process had taken several hours before the victim could be loaded into an EMT van and moved to a local funeral home. To her chagrin, she had discovered that the coroner in Asheville was an elected position-- meaning the man in charge wasn't a pathologist-- and all their wrongful death cases were sent to the state pathology office in Raleigh for autopsy. The rest of the morning and afternoon were taken up by a preliminary examination of the victim, in which she and Starling were forced to confront up close the horror of what had befallen this young girl.

Although her head ached from hunger, she was perversely grateful that she hadn't had time to eat. For the first time in her career, she wasn't certain she could have stopped her stomach from rebelling at the combination of food and the task before her. Since medical school she had dispassionately dissected bodies, both in labs and morgues. She had examined the victims of foul play, seen everything from corpses burnt beyond recognition to those killed by gunshot wounds to those who had died by means still unidentifiable to human eyes. Nothing, however, affected her the way deliberate cruelty did. Violation-- and what had happened to this girl and the six others previously was nothing short of the ultimate violation-- was abhorrent to her. Her linear mind made her the perfect complement to Mulder's abstract patterns of thought, but it rendered her almost incapable of comprehending a person who enjoyed inflicting this kind of ferocious savagery. On this case she was completely at sea, lost for what to feel about it.

She needed time to process what she had seen-- and even more, to absorb Clarice Starling's almost nonchalant acceptance of everything that had happened-- so when the desk clerk cautiously inquired if she was "that FBI lady?" Dana shot him a cold look.

"Is there a problem?" she asked quietly, the steely tone belying the soft words.

The clerk-- another underage cherub, Scully noticed with a weary eye-- flinched under the gaze. "Well, ma'am, it's just um... you see..."

"Scully!" Starling's clipped voice cut through the low murmur of traffic around them. "Hey... we're in Room 491."

A pale brow lifted lazily. "We?" This was something new. Icy eyes swiveled to pin the already-squirming clerk.

"It's Belle Chere," the clerk gulped by way of explanation.

"Who is Belle Chere?" Scully inquired, feeling her blood pressure inching towards the explosive level.

Starling chuckled dryly, seemingly oblivious to Scully's rising temper. "It's not a who, it's a what. Some kind of art festival. The entire town's packed." She lowered her voice so that only Scully could hear. "Which means finding our boy's going to be twice as hard. But given the crowds, he may stick around a little while." Her eyes seemed to shrug at Scully, the pale blue saying, We've got to take the good with the bad.

"What does this have to do with my room?" she asked Starling, seeing that she was getting nowhere with Opie Taylor there behind the desk.

"You don't have a room," Starling explained. "If they had told me you were coming, I would've had standing orders for an additional room. As it is..." Her voice trailed off.

"I'm bunking with you." If Scully hadn't been already close to passed out on her feet, she probably would have cried.

"It's a double," the clerk offered helpfully.

At least I get my own bed... Scully thought balefully, wondering what she would have done if this had happened with Mulder. _He probably would have slept in the car..._ she mused... _Or spent the night at a porno theater.._ It then occurred to her that there weren't any porno theaters this deep in the Bible Belt, so Mulder's absence was probably a good thing.

Her eyes returned to Starling, who was gazing at her almost sympathetically.

Clarice extended a hesitant hand, the slender fingers falling short of Scully's sleeve. A slight gesture carried them out of their clerk's hearing range. "Look... I'm going to go pick us up something for dinner. There's another storm on the way, and I figured you wouldn't want to be out in it anymore than I do. Why don't you go on up to the room, take a shower and peruse the old case files? I don't know how much time you had to get familiar with the priors..." Her voice trailed off, leaving an opening for Scully who nodded with ill-concealed relief, hating herself at the same time for so desperately needing the time alone.

"I was able to glance at them, but I wasn't expecting to get called less than twenty-four hours later," she confessed.

"I never am either," Starling agreed with a wry grin that disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived. "G'wan upstairs. Any preferences for dinner?"

Scully shook her head tiredly. "Nothing greasy," she answered, recalling Mulder's fondness for local diner cuisine.

"Agreed." Starling half-turned to go, then swiveled back to face her new partner, an uncertain look on her face. "Uh... I was planning on stopping by the local ABC store. Something I can pick up for you?"

Discreetly not mentioning that they were both technically on duty and such beverages were verboten under the circumstances.

Scully mentally debated the point-- it was academic really. Were she at home, the wine would already be open. "Some chardonnay would be great," she admitted. "It's been..."

"A godawful day," Starling finished for her, the enigmatic half-smile reappearing.

Scully fleetingly wondered if the woman were capable of a smile that reached the arctic depths of those implacable eyes. Remembering the agent's response to the day's events, she doubted it. "Yeah, something like that."

\---------------------------------

 _Chardonnay..._ Starling thought as she crossed the busy downtown street towards the restaurant the clerk had recommended.

_"A census taker tried to test me once. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti..."_

Involuntarily her mind flickered back to the only gourmand she had ever known, and a macabre thought occurred to her. "He'd know what kind of wine she'd like," she muttered aloud, ignoring the swirling crowd around her. She didn't know what it was about Dana Scully that... unsettled.. her so much. _Oh get real, Starling... She intimidates the hell out of you..._ she ruthlessly told herself, remembering the agent's impeccable tailoring, her no-nonsense demeanor, and her ruthlessly efficient-- yet compassionate-- way of handling their UNSUB's latest victim.

After they'd printed and photographed the girl-- officially determined for the record she'd been the victim of foul play-- Clarice had found the nearest soda machine and punched out two Cokes, handing one to Scully. The agent had looked blank-faced at her until Starling had cracked her half-smile and lifted her dark hair, placing the icy can at the base of her neck.

Scully had nodded imperceptibly at the familiar gesture and did the same, audibly sighing in relief at the coldness. "Where'd you learn this?"

"Habit I got into early on," Starling offered diffidently, unwilling to confide so readily in this woman, although something told her that she could and that her words would remain sacrosanct. _Maybe it's the cross she wears..._ Starling had thought at the time, noticing the discreet pendant, the only jewelry the red-head wore.

Jerking herself back to the present tense, Starling looked intently at the streets signs, searching for Haywood Street. The clerk had said that she couldn't miss it... it was one of the biggest streets in an already small town. So she flowed easily with the traffic, content in her wanderings and knowing that Scully probably appreciated the time alone as much as she did.

She found the restaurant, a place amusingly named "The Bier Garden." Starling chuckled softly, taking in the traffic around her-- cataloguing the people around her almost automatically and recognizing that none of them posed a threat. She carried a gun at all times, although the baggy width of her blazer concealed it gracelessly. Unlike Special Agent Dana Scully... she considered ruefully. Scully's trenchcoat was trim and tailored and had effortlessly hidden the Sig P220 that she wore on her hip. Starling had exchanged the glaring dark blue and yellow FBI windbreaker as quickly and discreetly as she could after they left the scene, the hackles on the back of her neck rising as she watched Scully take in and seem to find wanting the Macy's off the rack blazer she had put on in its stead.

"What?" The inquisitive, bright eyes of the maitre d took her off guard. Shaking her head to clear the fuzziness-- a combination of the exhaustion of the day and her scattered thoughts about the new woman who was her partner-- Starling smiled at the young man, the gesture not reaching her eyes.

"Table for one?" he repeated. Starling took in his figure. Thick dark hair fell casually around his forehead, framing a strongly shaped face. The white shirt did attractive justice to his dark skin, and she noticed that the tie he wore was a silk version of Munch's "The Scream."

"Uh... no, actually..." She looked around the small restaurant. Discreetly elegant lighting flickered in scones along the walls, and plants hung from every corner of the room drooping down bare inches above the patron's heads. The clientele was a confident mix of eternally upwardly-bound young people, with well-fitted clothes and impressive degrees. It was exactly the sort of place that normally made Starling's skin crawl... but oddly, she found herself regretting she was ordering to go. _Maybe Scully and I can come back later..._ The thought escaped before she had time to put a leash on it, and mentally Clarice smacked herself upside the head for the larcenous thought. _Why are you so determined to impress this woman?_ she asked herself as she ordered the special for herself and a chicken Caesar salad for the woman waiting back in their hotel room. Well, she said nothing greasy. The maitre'd took her order with a professional nod, and Starling surprised herself again by asking for a wine recommendation.

"A chardonnay?" he asked, reassessing the woman in front of him with a new eye. "Hmm... Well, it depends," he replied, his green eyes taking on a conspiratorial gleam. His voice rose an octave, and Starling recognized the shift in his expression from a boy doing his job to a brother recognizing a sister. She'd bet a million dollars that the lad had bumper sticker that said _Hate Is Not a Family Value_ on his Honda Civic. His expression was so kindly she almost didn't regret being clocked. "If you're trying to impress... someone..." He paused significantly. "I'd go with a Clos Pegase. It's a California chardonnay so it's not too pretentious. But if... they... enjoy their wine... they'll notice." He grinned at her and raised a hand in the air as if to say, _"Score!"_ "It'll be about fifteen minutes before your order is ready. You've got plenty of time to run down the street to Zack's. It's down a block and a half, take a right.. you can't miss it. Pick up your wine." He patted her reassuringly on the arm, and Starling looked up at him-- startled by the gesture. It was the first time in over a year that someone had touched her, and the unnatural feel of skin on skin further jolted her composure. "Your dinners will be waiting by the time you get back."

Starling glanced around uncertainly. "You sure?"

"Don't worry, darlin'" He waved a dismissive hand, a sparkle in his eye. "I'll take good care of you. Run along and get your wine now."

\---------------------------------

The scalding heat from the bath had leached at least some of the tension from Scully's body. There was a small AM/FM radio in the room, and she had managed to find the local NPR station, but they were in the middle of a pledge drive. The incessant talking had forced Scully to abandon any hope for a nice Bach concerto and settle for the local classic rock station. She'd take Eric Clapton during his Derek and the Dominos years over pleas for money any day.

She slipped from the bath as Clapton serenaded Layla with wailing guitar and raw voice. Maybe they'd play "Cocaine" later, she mused, sliding on thick FBI sweatpants and a black T-shirt that had a picture of the Michelin tire man with an alien's head superimposed on the body. It had been her Christmas present last year from Mulder.

Sometimes her partner had a really sick sense of humor.

A quiet clicking at the door drew her attention away from the lap top that sat precariously on her legs, and she looked up to see Starling let herself into the room carrying two styrofoam containers and a weighty-looking brown paper sack.

Scully scrambled off the bed and helped the other agent with her parcels, sitting the dinners down on the closest matress. "You've got a handful there," she commented.

Starling nodded in greeting, taking in the damp tendrils of red hair that clung to Scully's forehead and the woman's unmistakably relaxed stance. The faint scent of bath salts-- the generic hotel kind-- tickled her nostrils. _Looks like the time alone was a good thing..._ she considered silently. The forced intimacy of the situation compelled her to look at Scully with different eyes-- a gaze that she knew would be returned later in the evening, when she stripped off her own FBI protection and rendered herself just an ordinary woman.

"You said nothing greasy-- I got you a chicken Caesar salad." Starling awkwardly indicated one of the styrofoam containers.

"Great," Scully nodded, just as ill-at-ease with the agent. Her partnership with Mulder has been forged over the past fire years, tempered by life-threatening cases and shared trials. She didn't know how to begin to talk to this woman who was as taciturn as Scully herself on a bad day. "That's just what I need. Nothing heavy..." She forced a smile to her face. "Perfect."

Starling nodded, a little too vigorously for the mundane subject. "Oh... " She pulled a slender bottle from the bag in her right arm. "Here... You said chardonnay, right?" Knowing good and damn well what Scully had asked for.

Scully took in the bottle's label, a brow lifting approvingly at as she read. The first geniune smile Starling had ever seen from Dana Scully slipped over the red-head's lips, reaching up and brushing her eyes-- lighting the blue within.

Clarice Starling felt the breath catch in her throat, and the words she had been about to speak were forgotten as she simply relaxed into the warm regard of that smile and those eyes. Metaphors and similes had never been Starling's strong suite-- her powers of description were clinical in the best sense of the word-- but now she found herself reaching for comparisons beyond her ken, nothing in her experience preparing her for the simple beauty of the right woman smiling at her at the right time.

_"Don't you feel eyes moving over you every day, Clarice, in chance encounters? And don't your eyes in turn seek out the things you want?"_

Starling had never consciously sought out anything in her life before... but that expression in this woman's eyes... it was something she knew she would look for-- consciously or no-- for the rest of their partnership.

"You like it?" she asked hesitantly.

"It's one of my favorites," Scully replied, startled by the anxious look in the other agent's eyes. "Thank you, Clarice."

Starling brushed off Scully's gratitude with a wave of her hand, just as uneasy with the expression in Scully eyes as she was eager for it to return. "No problem," she said softly. "You hungry?"

Dana chuckled softly, surprised to find only a quiet rumble in her stomach and none of the anxious roiling she had carried with her all day. "Starving," she replied honestly. "Let's eat."

* * *

 

Tacit agreement kept the subject of their investigation tabled during dinner. Instead, the two women made rather desultory small talk over names in the Bureau they both recognized-- until the two glasses of wine Scully downed in rather rapid fashion and the first of Starling's six pack of Rolling Rock began to hit home.

As the classic rock station slid into some endless music marathon-- beginning, they both noted ironically, with "Don't Fear the Reaper"-- Scully felt the last hours' tension begin oozing its way out of her muscles. The Clos Pegase was excellent; and while the salad took the edge off her hunger and settled her aching stomach, it wasn't exactly substantial. The combined result was a very pleasant lightheadedness that enabled the pathologist to slip outside the tumultuous eddies of the last hours and pay closer attention to the other occupant of the hotel room.

 _She's not much for small talk, that's for sure..._ Scully considered, watching Starling methodically devour her roast beef and garlic mashed potatoes. _But then again, neither am I..._ she admitted with an internal smile. There was something else, however, about Clarice Starling that was like no one else Scully had ever met.

Whether she liked it or not, the entire world knew who this petite, dark-haired, intense-eyed woman was-- Hannibal Lecter and Jame Gumb had seen to that. Succeeding where other legendary FBI agents like Will Graham and Jack Crawford had failed, Starling had connected with the wily sociopath Lecter and used his expertise to catch a killer. That she was still a student when she did so only made the legend more remarkable. Scully was no stranger to driving ambition herself-- her career trajectory attested to that-- and in Starling's quiet intensity she recognized a spark similar to her own. But while Scully knew that her own accomplishments were fueled by a desire both to seek the truth and to serve her country, Dana couldn't for the life of her figure out what would compel someone spend her life chasing monsters in the shadows.

"Are you still hungry?" the low voice from across the room jolted Scully back abruptly from her musings.

"Excuse me?"

Starling smiled wryly and opened her second beer. "You were staring at my dinner. I know that salad probably wasn't much. Want some of mine?"

Scully felt a deep blush rising in her cheeks. Starling had noticed her scrutiny but thankfully was willing to attribute it to something else. _Way to go, Dana, alienate your new partner on the first day... but I guess she's used to it, huh?_ "I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was staring. I was just thinking..." she trailed off, at a loss for what to say.

"About the case?" The light in Starling's eyes quickened, as if that was all that mattered.

"Actually..." she improvised, "I was thinking how much this room reminded me of the dorms at Quantico." The words were true enough-- the Spartan accommodations of the Motel 6 uncannily resembled those provided to Academy students-- and the apprehension Scully felt in Starling's presence echoed the uneasy appraisal she had seen in her first roommate's eyes. It had been hard, walking in that door the first day, knowing that twenty percent of the students would be cut from the program-- regardless of their qualifications. Scully's Phi Beta Kappa, her Magna Cum Laude, and her recently acquired MD hadn't meant a damn thing to her Academy Instructors-- to them, she was just another golden child among many.

Looking around the room, Starling nodded her agreement. She didn't mention that the tiny 20' x 20' room she had shared with Ardelia had been the only thing close to a "home" she had known since the death of her father.

_She and Ardelia had been happy after a fashion... working their asses off... running the Yellow Brick Road until they thought they would puke... studying at all hours... and snatching quiet moments away from everyone else to hold each other in the dim light of a single candle. Ardelia had quieted the roaring ache inside Clarice's soul... quieted it, but never filled or silenced it. Invariably Clarice would turn away from her lover, unable to accept the invasion of tenderness into her soul..._

"Starling?" Now it was Scully's turn to wonder what had brought the faraway look into her new partner's eyes.

"Sorry. Woolgathering." She made a brief attempt at a grin, but it failed miserably-- never even reaching her mouth, much less her eyes. "What was it like for you?" she asked abruptly. "The Academy, I mean."

Scully arched a pale brow at the unexpected question. It was an opening of sorts... odd though it was... a way to bridge the coolly professional distance they had established between them. Scully hesitated only a moment before accepting it. "Well, after the first day I thought I might have been insane for joining up. After the first week I was convinced I was." She laughed at the memory of the frazzled, exhausted, and completely overwhelmed young woman she had been. She had thought of quitting-- walking away from the brutal discipline the had Academy taught and returning to the comparatively simple life of a resident-- but failure was not an option in the Scully household. So, a young Dana Scully had dug deep inside... and discovered an unyielding backbone of steel at her core.

Quantico hadn't been the first test of her mettle, but it had certainly been the first one to make her question her own resolve, attributes, and abilities. The Academy had been her first test of fire... the craving for her instructors' approval and the satiety of success when they handed her that badge...

Special Agent Dana Scully.

Now, years later-- here she was, in a hotel room with a woman who brought all those niggling insecurities of that younger version of herself to vivid life.

"Joining up?" Starling's question interrupted the train of Scully's thoughts before it left the station. "You make it sound like the military."

Scully shrugged ruefully. "Sorry. Family hazard. I'm a Navy brat-- my father and two brothers. We never do anything halfway."

"Serving God and country, huh?" Starling looked thoughtfully at the small woman across from her. It made a perfect sort of sense, she considered, noticing-- not for the first time-- the straight set of Scully's shoulders and the easy grace in the way she moved. A uniform would look good on her... "Why didn't you just follow in your family's footsteps?" Even wearing sweatpants and that ridiculous T-shirt, the red-head exuded an unmistakable air of authority, and Starling had no trouble believing that others would follow her commands without hesitation.

"What do you mean?" Scully's eyes focused on Clarice with unnerving coolness.

"I'm sorry, it's none of my business." Starling retreated from the conversation, sensing she was on the very of going too far. "It just seemed like a natural path for you-- that's all." She shrugged and stood up, breaking eye contact and ending the conversation. "Look, I'm going to grab a shower. We can talk about the case afterwards. Okay?" Not waiting for Scully's nod of assent, she grabbed a bundle of clothes and disappeared with them into the tiny bathroom.

\---------------------

With the door shut and the water sluicing off her skin, Starling turned the brief exchange over in her mind. Long ago she had learned that identity is constructed out of the intersections of experience and emotion. Sometimes those intersections were smooth-- either easy conjoinings or simply worn down by the passage of time and the shedding of many tears. Sometimes those intersections could be sharp-- painful or unexamined reminders of what had been, what might have been, or what never would be. Remembering the alabaster stillness of Scully's face, Starling knew immediately she had stumbled across something very sharp in Dana Scully's soul.

That surprised her. Based on what she had seen previously, Scully was smoothly tempered steel-- cool to the touch and impossible to get a handle on. Sharp people were unprotected-- the roiling conflicts in their souls made them vulnerable to others and left their soft emotional underbellies exposed. Sharp people let others in... unwittingly or no... and Starling couldn't imagine Scully allowing that to happen.

\---------------------

 _Why didn't you join the Navy?_ was essentially what Starling had asked her... and as Scully poured herself another glass of wine, she realized with shock that no one had ever asked her that question. She hadn't even asked it of herself.

Her family had been Navy through and through... each step along the ladder of rank was considered a promotion for the whole family, and everybody had their own part to play. Within Ahab's small inner circle of officers whose careers had paralleled his own, the men were officers and the women... well, the women were wives. For as long as she could remember it had been expected that the boys would follow their father into the service... and Melissa's own interests had never interfered with the expectations everyone had for her future.

But Dana... growing up she had been a miniaturized, red-headed version of her father. She had inherited his boundless courage, his reckless love of the sea, and his fiery temper... and Ahab had loved her for all those qualities.

To this day, Scully didn't know when that loving indulgence had changed. Somewhere between her adolescence and young adulthood, her father's fond smile had twisted into a thin line of disapproval. _Act like a lady..._ replaced _That's my girl..._ as his mantra, and pretty soon it seemed to the sixteen year-old Dana that her father had forsaken her entirely-- turning his attention to the the sons who would carry on his name and Naval tradition.

For Dana, however, pleasing her father had become such an ingrained habit, that she threw herself with all the passion of broken-hearted youth into the quest to bring that smile back to her father's face. The tomboyish blue jeans and baseball caps went away, along with her rebellious habit of arguing at the dinner table. But Dana couldn't turn off the inquisitive mind she was born with or stop the burning desire to be more than what everyone seemed to expect her to be.

Her father always teased her that the first word out of Dana's mouth wasn't "Mommy" or "Daddy" it was "WHY?" Why had she been born, why was there a day and a night, why was the sky blue. It was easy to answer her questions at first... but as she got older... those questions became harder and harder... until finally, Dana realized that Ahab didn't have all the answers.

_She threw herself into science... something that could be measured, weighed, tested, and ultimately... understood. It was the path to medicine... to pathology... dissecting the human body to understand how it worked... never realizing that the need for love, respect and understanding could never be quantified or qualified by the Scientific Method..._

Forcibly turning her thoughts away from the shadowy paths they had begun to explore, Scully focused instead on the stack of case files she pulled from her brief case. Their guy was remarkably consistent, she thought, studying the women who were posed so identically that-- except for their faces-- they were interchangeable.

Which, in a way, was exactly what they were. The six bodies-- now seven-- were grisly substitute targets for the rage this man couldn't take out on its true source. Scully ran an agitated hand through her hair and examined the photographs more closely. She understood killing in self-defense-- she had done that herself. She understood killing to protect one's home or family. But this... horror... that made no sense except to the man who committed these acts. Slowly, she shook her head. She didn't know what was worse-- the way these women died, or why.

Random luck seemed to have chosen these girls, for nothing in their physical characteristics or backgrounds tied them together. Of course, now they were linked forever. Seven girls. Seven identical rituals. Pale blue narrowed... _How..?_

Seeing Starling emerge from the bathroom vigorously toweling her hair dry, Scully gave voice to her thought. "How did the Bureau jump on this so early? I mean it usually takes at least three killings in a central area for a local department to start thinking serial-- and here you don't have that. Logically, we shouldn't even know this guy exists, much less have this much paper on him." She waved the case files at Starling who nodded tiredly and flopped down on the bed.

She was glad to see Scully's attention was on the case and not the uneasy conversation they had just had. "Noticed that, huh?" she asked, opening another beer.

"It's hard not to."

"Turns out one of the victims-- the Jackson one, Veronica Harris-- has a sister. Who just happens to be Belinda Harris." She waited for Scully to connect the dots.

"The true crime writer?" Scully groaned. Harris had approached her shortly after the Donnie Pfister case wanting to write about the Vampire Killer. Scully had steadfastly refused to talk to her, and when Harris discovered that Donnie had only actually killed one woman-- and just a prostitute at that-- mercifully she had lost interest in doing the book.

Starling nodded grimly. "The way her sister was murdered-- well, you can imagine that set off all sorts of bells and whistles in her head. She did a little digging and came up with Samantha Edwards-- murdered one month prior in an identical fashion. That's when she came to me."

"Why you?"

"Because she knew I'd listen," Starling replied, her mouth tightening. "And because she wrote that book."

That book was _"Mating With a Monster: The Strange Bond Between a Killer and a Cop,"_ and it had sat on the New York Times Bestseller List for weeks. Starling and the Bureau had refused any participation in the project, but the Baltimore mental hospital where Lecter had been locked up had proven about as secure as a leaky sieve, and the more peripheral players in the case had been most willing to talk. Harris had arrived in the big time. Jerry Springer gave her the whole hour. So did Sally Jessy, Geraldo, and Jenny Jones. For the most part, Clarice kept her head down and went on with her business, hoping that the circus-goers would find another freak to stare at.

She had lost her cool only once. Working a string of unsolved child homicides in Dallas, Starling had been tracked down by Harris and a camera crew from "Inside Edition." As she left the scene of the latest murder, Starling's mind had been swamped by images of this innocent who had mutilated so badly she didn't know how his parents were going to make a positive identification. Unfortunately for them, that's when Harris and crew pounced.

_"Agent Starling... an inside source at the Bureau says that you and Jack Crawford have become lovers. How does he feel about your past relationship with Hannibal Lecter?"_

_Starling's body reacted before she even had time to think about it... her right hand shot out in a perfect arc, backhanding Harris and bloodying her nose. Brushing past the now-squealing reporter, Starling continued on her way without a word._

And, of course, the camera had captured it all.

"What does she want?" Scully's soft question broke her reverie.

Starling paused a moment, thinking. "I believe she genuinely wants to find her sister's killer." Then she laughed mirthlessly. "Of course, any ancillary benefits-- like a book and another shot at me-- are welcome just the same."

"She holding a grudge?" Scully remembered the camera incident vividly. It had produced a flurry of inter-office memos and reminders about "protocol when dealing with the press."

"Who knows?" Starling replied, wanting to get on to the matter at hand. "The upshot is that she's breathing down our necks." _That word again... 'our.'_ Starling didn't stop to consider it. "She'll probably be here tomorrow. That woman's plugged into so many different sources, there's no way to freeze her out, and we'll just waste precious time trying if we try."

"I guess we'll deal with her then," Scully agreed, closing the subject and opening her notes on the victim they'd examined this morning. "We're going to have to go to Raleigh for the official post, but preliminary indications are that the victim died in a manner consistent with the other cases. Ligature marks and abrasions on the neck indicate that she was strangled. Probably with a rope or leather belt."

"What are you basing your conclusions on?"

"Well... when someone has their hands around your neck, like this..." She knelt beside Starling on the bed, wrapping her slender fingers around Starling's throat. "Feel how the pressure is distributed from each finger?"

Scully's hands were cool and smooth, covering the pulse that flared softly in Starling's neck. Though the touch was fleeting and clinical, Starling had no trouble feeling the shape of each of those fingers on her skin.

If Scully noticed the small start ripple through Starling's skin, she chose to ignore it as she released Starling and leaned back. "See how the ligature marks on the victims are in a relatively consistent and thin band? If the killer had used his hands the marks would be separated and distinct, all along the neck. And we'd at least have a good notion of the size of his hands."

Starling sighed regretfully. "We haven't gotten that lucky." Knowing that if they had his hands, they would have a strong foundation to base his build and size. "What about the wrist wounds?"

"I won't know for sure until I boil down the radius and the ulna, but judging from the tear wounds on the skin, I'd say a garden variety hacksaw. The tears were jagged and uneven, I'm betting the striations on the bones will show the same thing. An electric saw would give a smoother cut, although the skin would still be chewed." She flipped through the other cases, looking at the autopsy files and noticing the other pathologists conclusions.

"Do you think the wounds were postmortem?" Starling was running her through the basic questions, and Scully couldn't figure out if it was to review the most pertinent information on the case or to test her competency. She hoped after the day they had just spent together, that it was the former and not the latter motivating her new partner.

She shrugged. "It's possible, but without seeing the crime scene, I can't say for sure. Postmortem wounds don't bleed, but since the discovery site isn't where the murder took place, anything I say is pure conjecture. Same thing with the breast wound. What blood the killer didn't wash off-- the rain did." She glanced at her partner-- Starling's blue eyes were cloudy and unseeing, focusing inward and unmindful of the empty beer bottle she turned in her hands. "What is it?" Scully asked quietly. "What's bothering you?"

Slowly, the brightness returned to Starling's eyes as she fixed her gaze on Scully. "Doesn't this seem too... tidy to you?"

"What do you mean?"

Starling stood, running a hand through her damp hair, and paced the length of the room in short, measured steps. "Crime classification pegs this guy as a sexual sadist."

"Because of the object in her vagina and the mutilation to her breast."

"Right. But..." Starling shook her head. "There's not enough damage."

Remembering the girl's cut off hands and breast, Scully wonder how much damage would be considered enough. She arched a brow as if to say "go on..."

"What gets a sadist off is the pain he inflicts on his victims-- especially if he's impotent in other ways."

"As would seem to be indicated in this case."

"Right... but in most cases... those are the girls who get torn up the most." Starling rubbed her face, grasping for the words to explain what she dealt with every day. "He takes his inability to complete the sex act out on the victim-- usually by mutilating, stabbing, and disfiguring them. And if they use penis substitutes it's more likely to be something found at the site rather than an object specifically designed for sexual pleasure."

"Because he never plans on not finishing what he's started."

"Exactly. The ritual, the violence, the control gets him excited... so he thinks he can finish. But that's not what arouses him. So when he tries to complete the sexual part of the act, he fails. Loses control and..." Her voice trailed away, not wanting to complete the thought.

"Tears her up."

"Yeah," she said softly.

Both women fell silent, lost in their own contemplations.

Finally, Scully asked-- more to keep from downing in the awfulness of what they were dealing with than anything. "Is there anything significant about the kind of vibrator used?"

"Nope. It's the Cyberskin Vibrator. $19.95 at the Pleasure Chest in Washington. I tracked down the manufacturer and they said they sell over 50,000 a year through various stores, on line companies and catalogues."

"In other words, it's the sex toy equivalent of a gray four door sedan."

"Yup, everybody's seen one. Everybody's got one."

 _Even me_... Scully thought ruefully, not sure she would ever look at her own the same way again. "Any guesses on it's importance in the ritual?"

"Not really. The killings are sexually oriented-- that much seems to be a given. The vibrator, the knees up and legs spread, the mutilation of the breast. It's odd though..."

"What?" Scully prompted, when no more information seemed forthcoming.

"The way he positioned the breast in her mouth..."

"What about it?"

"I've seen probably half-a-dozen other cases where this was done, and in every single one of them, the nipple was pointing out-- towards the viewer." She motioned at the crime scene photos. "In these cases the nipple itself is inside the victim's mouth-- not visible to the viewer at all."

"Does that matter?"

"Everything the UNSUB does matters," Starling stated flatly. "We have to be able to look with his eyes. Because once we see his 'creations'--" She used the word derisively, "--The way he does, then we'll be able to understand why he does it. Once we know why, we'll know what he's going to do next. And then we catch him."


	2. Part II - Craving

_Running again... familiar darkness. Glints of light shimmering off the irises of watchful eyes. She knew she wasn't alone. But that wasn't a comforting knowledge... It merely signified another addition to the gallery of faces that watched her mad rush to escape the pursuit... Her muscles were cramping, and the rasping harshness of her breath was the only sound accompanying the frantic pounding of her feet on the earth..._

_It was gaining on her...._

Scully didn't know what woke her from her pleasantly heavy, wine-fueled slumber, but her eyes were immediately drawn to the moonlit figure of the woman in the other bed.

She could clearly see that, despite the night's coolness, Starling's body was covered in sweat, and the covers were twisted into a snarl around her legs. Continuous shudders wracked her small frame, and Scully realized that Starling was in the middle of a hell of a nightmare. The paralyzing, deep REM sleep kept her from moving and held Starling completely at the mercy of whatever horror played itself out behind her eyes.

Without thinking, Scully slipped from her own bed and knelt beside Clarice. Hesitantly, she placed a cool hand on the side of Starling's neck, feeling the frantic pulse underneath the skin. "Shh... Relax..." she murmured, not wanting to wake Starling but only to rouse her from the deepest part of her sleep. Clarice's own body would do the rest. Instinctively, she knew that Starling wouldn't welcome this invasion-- unwitting and unwilling as it was-- into her privacy.

As she slowly stroked Clarice's forehead and cheeks with soft touches to gentle the woman from her terror, Scully was forced to revise her assessment of her new partner. Throughout the day, she had been shocked and a little appalled at the ease with which Starling had seemingly accepted the grisly nature of her work. Now, however, she realized that not only was Starling affected by her work-- she was so deeply affected that her conscious mind wouldn't acknowledge it. Starling could only allow herself to feel the horror when she was alone in the dark.

An unfamiliar pain twisted deep inside Scully's stomach for this woman who had carved out such an absolutely solitary existence for herself. _But then again..._ Scully mused silently, _What choice does she have? How many people would share this?_ Thinking about what they had seen earlier in the day and the dead young women whose lives had been reduced to stacks of grim crime scene photographs and dismembered body parts. Those girls had dreamed at night too-- and never imagined that they would become fuel for the nightmares of their avenger's sleep.

Clarice's shudders had almost stopped, and she turned slightly on her shoulder, towards Dana's touch. Recognizing that Starling would be okay now, Scully knew she should return to her own bed-- but irrationally she remained by Clarice's side, watching the sharply chiseled line of her face. _That's what she is, isn't she?_ Scully wondered. _An avenger. She's taught herself to see through a monster's eyes, not so she can understand him, but so she can understand what happened to those girls. And keep it from happening again. She couldn't protect those girls' innocence, so she brings them the only thing she can-- justice._

_Do you think of yourself as an avenger, Clarice?_ she asked silently. She considered the sleeping form of the woman in front of her-- the dark arc of her brow, the austerely beautiful planes of her face, the shuttered eyes that hid an exquisitely intense gaze... _Or are you something else entirely? Are you one of those people who in another time would have been a paladin? Would you have roamed the countryside, slaying dragons and protecting the innocent?_

The image oddly suited the taciturn woman she was coming to know, and it brought a slight smile to Scully's lips. Starling was no Joan of Arc, that was certain, but there was something undeniably noble about her... something that had refused to bow to the pressures of the Bureau, the clamor of the media, or-- apparently-- the very human craving for comfort in the darkest heart of the night.

Allowing her fingers to trace the angle of Clarice's jaw one last time, Scully leaned over and tugged the blanket back into place. The night was cool, and Starling would be needing its comfort now.

_Rain... gentling over her face... washing the sweat and blood away... soothing the clammy heat of her skin.... She lifted her face to the darkness, to the rain... and tasted its sweetness on her lips..._

In her sleep Starling sighed contentedly and burrowed into the pleasant mist of her dream...

\---------------------------------

The following morning, if Starling remembered anything from the night before, she gave no indication. Scully did notice, however, that the woman seemed a bit more at ease with her-- and the circles under her pale blue eyes were lighter than they had been the day before.

"Sleep well?" she wasn't been able to resist asking.

Starling paused, as if giving the matter significant thought. "Yeah..." she said slowly, almost surprised by the answer. "I did."

Scully couldn't stop the hint of a smile from tugging at her lips. "Good. Me too. You want the shower first?"

Ancient memories of dorm life orchestrated their movements as they vied for space in the small room, getting ready with a minimum of fuss and awkwardness. Scully mentally blessed the instinct that had prompted her to pack an extra couple pair of slacks and shirts as well as an additional blazer. Though she was no stranger to having to recycle her wardrobe because of unexpected delays, the very thought of spending another day in the clothes she had worn yesterday was abhorrent. The smell of death was on them, and she knew she wouldn't wear them again until they had been dry cleaned. Several times.

Her sidearm nestled comfortably on her waist, concealed now as she slipped on her favorite black blazer. The Hugo Boss jacket had been an extravagant indulgence two years ago, but its fine cut suited her perfectly and she had allowed Melissa to talk her into buying it. That shopping trip had been one of the last days she and her sister had spent together, and the clothes she had bought that day remained her favorites-- reminders of a happier time before the world had turned itself absolutely inside out. Now Melissa was dead, Scully herself was scarred for life, and nothing would ever-- ever-- be the same.

"Scully?"

The quiet voice drew her from her musings as she turned her eyes to Starling, smiling involuntarily at her partner. Starling was dressed almost identically, except her blazer was an earthy brown tweed and her slacks dark brown instead of black like Scully's. "We look like cops."

Starling frowned. "We are cops." Then a half-grinned tugged at her mouth. "Besides, I look like a cop, you..."

"What?" Scully prompted, intrigued by the almost normal banter.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Look like a cop."

Scully glanced down her body, surveying the blazer, gun, tailored trousers, and sensible black boots. "What do you mean? If I don't look like a cop, what do I look like?" The question slipped out before Scully had time to consider whether or not she really wanted the answer.

Fortunately, Starling's answer was interrupted by a loud pounding on the door that by most standards would have been considered obscenely early. Guess it's a good thing we're early risers, Scully thought ruefully, opening the door.

And was confronted with the unmistakably tall, imposing figure of Belinda Harris.

One of the things Scully had hated most about Harris-- irrational though it was-- was how damned tall the woman was. Harris stood easily at six feet without her shoes, and the bloody woman insisted on wearing boots that had two inch heels at the least. Or she had the few times Scully had been forced to deal with her.

Today was no exception.

She towered in the doorway, obliging Scully to crane her head to make unwavering eye contact. Dark brown eyes bored ruthlessly into her own blue ones and furrowed in vague recognition.

"I know you." came the statement.

"Can I help you?" Scully asked, ignoring the implied demand for her name.

"I'm looking for Clarice Starling..." The frown smoothed into a smug smile as recognition gleamed in Harris' eyes. "But this is an added pleasure, Special Agent Scully. Although I would think this is a little out of your realm of expertise."

"Ms. Harris--" Starling's clipped voice was back, all traces of the ease of their morning gone. "Special Agent Scully is a forensic pathologist." She hesitated only briefly over the next words. "As well as my partner."

Belinda's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Since when? And since when do you work with a partner?"

"Since I requested her assistance," Starling smoothly answered. "Now is there something specific you want, or are you just here to annoy me?"

Scully watched the exchange with interest, not sure what was more surprising-- the acidic tone in Starling's voice or the small fib about her requesting Scully's assistance. What Starling had requested was someone to follow up on the sometimes haphazard autopsies the local jurisdictions had provided.

What she had gotten was a partner who expected to be involved in every aspect of the case until they caught this son-of-a-bitch.

_I guess she's okay with that now... Hmm... will wonders never cease?._

Belinda bounced a glance between the two women, seeming to absorb the details of their persons the way a hunting dog inhaled the scent of its prey. "Whatever," she replied, waving a hand. "And Clarice, I'd think you would be a little happier to see me. After all, I'm here to help."

Scully couldn't stop the snort that escaped from her throat. She coughed unconvincingly. "Sorry," she shrugged. "I'm having a phlegm problem."

Starling chuckled darkly before Harris interrupted her. "So I guess you two wouldn't be interested in a lead on the dead girl's identity?"

"I suppose it would depend on if that information was reliable or not," Starling replied blandly. "And what the provider of that information wanted in exchange."

Harris smiled thinly. "Oh, this information's gold. I promise. As for what I want, we'll start with breakfast. Then maybe a little quid pro quo." She paused, watching avidly as the color in Starling's eyes flattened in warning.

Witnessing the exchange, the hair on the back of Scully's neck rose. Everyone had heard the tapes Dr. Chilton had made of Lecter's talks with Clarice-- and their quid pro quo conversation was the most famous one of all. "Why don't we skip breakfast and instead haul your ass off to jail for obstruction of justice?" Dana's calm voice sliced cleanly through the tension in the room. "If you have relevant information on this case that you're withholding, you're in violation of easily a half dozen state and federal statutes. Would you like me to recite them now or after I read you your rights?"

Harris' glance skidded over to the other woman in the room. "Waitaminute there, Red. What's the matter, you get up on the wrong side of your partner this morning or something?" She shot a knowing look at Starling. "Clarice and I have an understanding. She knows how much I want this guy caught. Maybe even more than she does."

"I know about Veronica," Scully replied flatly. "But right now you're not acting much like a grieving sister. In fact, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were just another avaricious reporter looking to make a buck and damn the cost to anyone else."

Starling couldn't wipe the astonished expression off her face. Not only was Scully's defense of her totally unexpected, but it also efficiently cut the sometimes overbearing Harris down to size. Silence flooded the room until Harris' booming laugh echoed off the bare walls. "Damn, Starling, you've got a live one here. I hope you don't piss her off regularly." She inclined her head, granting Scully victory in this round. "Geeze... I wonder why they make you work regular cases and don't just keep you reserved for interrogations. You've got the Gestapo attitude for it. At least feed me before you haul me off to the pokey, okay Scully?"

\---------------------------------

As she accompanied Scully and Harris down the crowded Asheville street, Starling considered that she couldn't be in the company of two more diverse women. Looking at Belinda Harris, the only word that came to mind was Amazonian. It was a cliché, granted... but one that was nevertheless true. Not only was she tall, she was also broad-shouldered-- and if she was a little overweight, she carried it well, the bulk distributed evenly on long arms and legs. Her chestnut hair-- the same color as her eyes-- was pulled away from her face and piled carelessly on top of her head, out of the way of busily swinging earrings and wildly gesturing hands. Everything about Belinda was larger-than-life and that kind of vibrant persona always set Starling's teeth on edge. People like that disturbed everyone they came into contact with-- their sheer size impinging on personal boundaries of all sorts. _That's probably how she gets most of her information..._ Starling mused. _She just walks right in there and stirs things up until she gets what she wants._

Scully, however, didn't seemed disturbed by the woman in the least. She had withstood the initial onslaught of Harris' shenanigans without blanching and earned the reporter's grudging respect. As they were seated, Clarice listened with one ear to their conversation and was surprised to learn that Harris not only knew of Scully and her X-Files exploits, but that she had approached Scully about doing a book.

"How did you talk her out of doing it?" Starling asked when Belinda excused herself to go to the ladies' room.

Scully shook her head. "I didn't. She kind of lost interest on her own." She chuckled wryly. "I guess I wasn't spectacular enough for her."

_I don't know about that..._

The sentiment ambushed Starling from the primal backbrain of her subconscious, and she ruthlessly crushed it out before it could blossom into something truly threatening. It rippled across her face and shimmered down her spine, becoming absorbed into the knots of tension in her lower back. She shifted slightly in her chair, adjusting to the new pressure. As Scully glanced up from her waffles, Starling found herself regarding her partner's eyes anew. Their clear blue depths reminded her of a photo she had once seen of the waters off the coast of Saba. Ardelia had brought the pictures of the Caribbean island home one night, hoping to entice Clarice with their peaceful beauty into taking a vacation. The colors in that photo had been so rich and vibrant that Starling had wanted to dive into their richness and lose herself into the beckoning coolness of the water she saw there. But she hadn't then and now... had she even wanted to, she wouldn't know how to go about trying.

The silence between them was pleasant-- despite Starling's renegade musings-- as if something had settled during the night, although for the life of her she couldn't figure out why that was. Listening to Scully evaluate the forensic evidence yesterday evening had eased the last of the questions in Starling's mind about her competence. The woman obviously knew what she was doing, and Starling decided to attribute her newfound ease in Scully's presence to that.

And nothing else.

"So, you guys wanna trade or what?" Belinda's jarring presence in the booth beside Starling startled the agent out of her thoughts.

_Just as well, I'm not getting anything accomplished this way..._

"Trade?" Scully's voice was mild, but the lilting arch of her brow was a warning to the reporter.

"Just seeing if you're awake over there, Red. I thought Starling was supposed to be the strong, silent type. But I think you might just have her beat."

"How's that?" In spite of herself, Scully was almost amused by the reporter. She had spent most of her brief acquaintance with Harris avoiding her, but now, she had to admit-- there was something annoyingly ingratiating about the reporter.

"You're strong, silent and mean. It took you less than five minutes to threaten to throw me in jail. I think that's a record-- even for me."

Even Starling couldn't stop the smirk that rose to her face at Harris' quip. Scully nodded and added lightly. "Then perhaps you should keep that in mind."

"Okay, okay..." Harris held up her hands in surrender. "But I do expect some consideration. You know what I mean?"

"Well, Belinda, since it took you less than a day to find us and get a lead on the victim's ID, I'd say you're getting more than enough consideration," Starling replied dryly. "You're here eating breakfast with us, aren't you? I don't see any other reporter within a mile of us. Now it's your turn. Spill it," she commanded.

The waitress-- a blowzy woman with a generous mouth and vividly-dyed red hair-- stopped by their table and refilled their coffee. Scully nodded her thanks and watched in amazement as Harris poured three packets of sugar and two half-n-halfs into the small cup. She and Starling exchanged queasy expressions and sipped their own black coffee silently, waiting for the reporter to stop fussing.

"Okay. I spent most of yesterday playing nice with the editor of the local Citizen-Times."

"You mean sucking up," Starling interjected.

Harris scowled and started to offer a retort, but Scully's question interrupted her. "That's the city newspaper?"

"Yup," Harris nodded in answer and contented herself with shooting Starling a dirty look. "Forget the cops, this guy's so plugged into what's going on around here that I'd be surprised if there's anything he doesn't know about. Anyway... turns out that a local girl came up missing a couple of days ago."

"Why wasn't there a missing persons report?" Scully asked, hoping that Starling was going to let her lead this interview. Obviously Belinda Harris pushed the few buttons Starling had, and Scully didn't want to lose whatever information the reporter might have. On the other hand, Harris seemed to enjoy provoking her partner, and might say something she normally wouldn't just to get a rise out of Starling.

"I don't know that there wasn't. But even if there were, the locals probably haven't made the connection yet. They don't see a lot of stuff like this around here."

"It's basic procedure," Scully shot back, just to see where it led her.

"Look around you, Red. This is a college town without the big college. There ain't a whole lot of violent crime-- unless you count the injuries to farm animals during teen cow-tipping adventures. What you've got up here is a town whose biggest industry is tourism. That means the cops spend their time making sure the drunk visitors don't drive into that tall, phallic thingie on Main Street-- that sort of stuff."

Scully and Starling exchanged a glance that said, _Somebody here was on the ball enough to use VICAP..._ Scully was confident that if there had been a matching missing persons report, Merriam would have been all over it. So, either Harris' girl wasn't the right one, or there wasn't a report. "Let's just say for argument's sake that there wasn't. Any reason the parents wouldn't have called the authorities?"

Harris leaned back in the booth. "Rumor has it that there was some friction between the girl and her parents. They might have figured she was holed up with one of her friends."

"So why does the newspaper editor know about this?"

"Because her folks are worried now. Especially with you Fibbies running around like _America's Most Wanted_. I told you, this guy knows everybody. Young old rich poor educated or dumb as a stump-- he knows them. He told her parents he'd keep his ears open, and when I showed up..." She let her voice trail off teasingly.

Scully was having none of it. "What's the girl's name?"

Harris sighed dramatically and rolled her eyes. "You are absolutely no fun."

"Give it up, Belinda."

"Kimberly Ellis. Nice girl apparently. Early twenties, just graduated from Converse College with a degree in Education. Was teaching Middle School for Buncombe County here. Blondish-hair, thinnish, blue eyes, about 5' 6". Had a bunch of scars on her right knee from a skiing accident in high school. Ring a bell?" She asked hopefully.

_So she's not plugged in enough to have the site photos. That's something at least,_ Scully thought. "We'll let you know, Belinda. Thanks for breakfast. Next one's on us." She rose gracefully from the booth and moved towards the exit.

"Waitaminute!" Harris leapt up in pursuit, allowing Starling to follow her partner's lead and make her own escape. The reporter's pursuit was interrupted as she stopped to pay the check.

Out on the street Starling and Scully exchanged glances, and Starling gave voice to the thought that occupied them both. "That's our girl."

* * *

**_Partridge Ridge Asheville, North Carolina_ **

There was nothing simple about telling two people that you thought their daughter was dead. Even worse-- telling them that she was the latest macabre entry in a serial killer's ongoing saga. As they stood on the tidy front porch of the Ellis residence, Scully felt the roiling sickness from last night return to her stomach. The acrid bile rose in her throat, and she swallowed hard-- her eyes looking anywhere but at the cream-colored door with its antique bronze knocker.

The yard was trimmed neatly, the first green of Spring poking up through last year's grass. A row of dogwoods lined the drive, and tiny buds dotted the trees' slender limbs. Similar buds for different flowers were also curling timidly skyward in various flower beds, and Scully found herself mulling the horrible irony of delivering news of death at a time that should be reserved for birthing life.

_But then again... what is Easter all about?_ Scully mused cynically. _We get so caught up in the bunny rabbits and egg hunts that we don't have to think about the reason behind it all..._

"Taking their time, aren't they?" Starling's comment drew Scully back from the uneasy precipice of her thoughts.

"Maybe they're not home," she replied.

"Maybe they don't want to talk to us."

"I wouldn't want to." Dana's quiet tone held an acid edge, and Starling's eyes jerked upward-- the remote coolness of the blue registering surprise at her partner's words. "I--" Scully bit off her words, shaking her head sharply the unasked question. How could she explain her revulsion at bringing death to someone's doorstep-- when that was how Starling spent her life? But as she stared evenly into Starling's eyes, she remembered the paralyzing nightmare last night that had gripped the woman beside her.

Maybe she wasn't alone in her horror.

To Dana's surprise, Starling replied softly. "I know." Their gaze met and held again, and Scully noticed that the unnervingly pale blue of Starling's eyes was clouded over with gray. Storm clouds on a still, summer's day.

Scully opened her mouth to speak, but her words were caught in the muted click of the Ellis's front door opening.

"Can I help you?" The woman who opened the door was rail thin and had the carefully groomed face of someone who's spent a lifetime adhering to the saying, "A lady never greets visitors looking anything less than her best." A pale pink blouse and soft, brown trousers complemented the woman's lightly tanned features, and her voice held the carefully modulated politeness reserved for door-to-door salespeople. _Thanks but I don't want any..._

In short, Elizabeth Ellis didn't exactly look the part of a distraught parent.

"Mrs. Ellis? I'm Clarice Starling of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. This is my partner, Dana Scully. May we have a word with you?" With mild surprise, Scully noted a gentle Southern cadence in Starling's voice had replaced her normally-clipped tones.

Kimberly Ellis' mother paled slightly beneath her healthy tan and pressed a hand to her chest. The undeniable crack in her genteel facade. "Something's happened to Kimberly, hasn't it?"

"Ma'am, it'd be best if we talked inside."

"Of course, come in. Please."

As Scully and Starling were ushered into the living room, the pathologist took in her surroundings. Contemporary Martha Stewart on a budget-- albeit a fairly substantial budget. Cool tans and discreetly muted pastels dominated the living room. There was an elegant Wyeth print over the back of the couch, and other equally tasteful smaller prints in strategic locations around the room. Family photos were gracefully matted and tucked into pewter frames, but their daughter strangely seemed to be missing from them all.

While Elizabeth Ellis summoned her husband from his study, Starling and Scully exchanged significant glances.

"Chilly in here, isn't it?" the pathologist murmured.

"You want my blazer?" Starling cracked with a dry smile. "Or we could ask Mrs. Ellis for a pair of mittens. I'm sure she has several extra pairs for dinner parties."

A pale brow flew skyward of its own volition at the comment, and Scully felt some of the tightly coiled tension in her belly ease. She grinned back at her dark partner and shook her head. "I'm going to have to be careful where I take you, aren't I?"

"Ardelia always said she couldn't take me anywhere," Starling replied softly, a faraway look creeping into her eyes.

Before Scully could ask who Ardelia was, the Ellises emerged from the dim recesses of the house.

Or to be more accurate, one of them did.

"I'm Martin Ellis. How can I help you, ladies?" Martin Ellis was every bit as well preserved as his wife was. If Kimberly Ellis was in her early twenties, Martin and Elizabeth either started young or worked really hard to appear that way. Flecks of gray were just invading his temples, and his body was only now beginning to concede to age's inevitability. His face didn't have the taut smoothness of youth, and Scully surmised that the lines etched into his face weren't the kind one got from smiling too much. His eyes were dark and cold... and Scully felt the chill that Starling's unexpected lightheartedness had eased returning.

Starling, on the other hand, didn't seem phased in the least. "We were hoping to talk to both you and your wife, sir."

The accent had eased a little-- Scully noted-- and there was a decided crispness to Clarice's tone that she liked. Her partner had apparently sized Martin Ellis up and come to much the same conclusions Scully herself had. From the top of his impeccably groomed dark hair to his pressed gray duckheads, Ellis radiated the confidence of someone who wasn't used to being questioned.

"This doesn't concern my wife. Whatever mess Kimberly's managed to make this time, Elizabeth doesn't need to know about."

"She seemed fairly concerned when she answered the door. I think she'd like to know what's going on." The crispness of Starling's voice took on a sharper edge.

_After all, it's not every day the FBI comes knocking at your door..._ Scully thought silently.

"I'll tell my wife everything she needs to know, Miss--"

Scully bit off the sharp retort that sprang to her lips when she saw Starling had already begun speaking.

"I don't think you understand-- sir--" The word as it fell from Starling's lips was as close to an obscenity as Scully had ever heard. "We are agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation--" She held out her badge. "And this is official business. Now may I suggest that you go get your wife so we can take care of our business. Do you understand me?"

Ellis stood appraising the two women in front of them-- and found himself pinned squarely by two icy blue gazes. "Fine. I'll be right back."

Watching him stride out of the room, Scully turned to her partner. "Makes me think that what Belinda said was true. Looks like there was bad blood in the family."

"Yeeaahh..." Starling drew out the word, looking thoughtful.

Dana recognized the look from last night. "What are you thinking?"

"Tell you later," she muttered as Martin and Elizabeth Ellis returned to the room.

"Please, sit down," Elizabeth murmured politely.

"Thank you, ma'am." The accent was back. "We won't take up much of your time... but what we need to ask you is very important."

"Of course."

"You said this had something to do with Kimberly?" Ellis interrupted brusquely.

Scully watched Clarice bite back a sigh and content herself with flicking Ellis an irritated glare. "Yes, sir. It does." She returned her attention to Kimberly's mother. "Can you tell me the last time you talked to Kimberly, or saw her?"

"I'll tell you the last time we saw her--" Martin answered for his wife. "It was two weeks ago Wednesday, when I told her not to bother coming back until she straightened herself up. I indulged her foolishness long enough-- it was time for her to pay the piper."

_You have no idea, Mr. Ellis..._

Starling's eyes never left Elizabeth Ellis's bloodshot brown ones as her husband spoke. "Is that right, Mrs. Ellis? It will have been two weeks on Wednesday since you've talked to Kimberly?"

"That-- that's correct, Agent Starling." Her gaze fled downward under Clarice's soft probing glance. Starling looked across and Scully who shook her head almost imperceptibly. It didn't jibe with their timeline at all. All the evidence-- what little of it there was-- pointed to their guy grabbing his mark, doing his business, and dumping the body all in a 24 to 36 hour period. There was no way in hell he had Kimberly Ellis for a week and a half.

"What's she done, agent?" Ellis' voice was a harsh dissonant tone in the quiet room.

Starling paused, considering both her words and the couple in front of her. "Well, sir. Kimberly hasn't done anything. In fact, we're afraid that something's been done to her."

"Oh my god..." The words were barely a breath of sound, but everyone's eyes found their way to Elizabeth Ellis once more. "Is it... I was watching the news... Are you those agents that they called about..." Her words trailed off, not wanting to reach their logical end.

Starling nodded at Scully, who discreetly stood and crossed the room. "Sir, if you could come with me please?"

Martin Ellis bounced a glance between the two FBI agents, clearly trying to decide if they were telling him the truth. Scully almost growled in anger at his arrogance. _Damn him, we're trying to tell him we think his child has been slaughtered by a madman... and he doesn't want to be taken advantage of. If this weren't a serial case, I'd peg him as my prime suspect..._ "Sir, please... I need you to look at some pictures for me."

Scully had taken a series of Polaroids of the victim once they got her to the hospital morgue. This wouldn't count as an official identification, but if Martin Ellis indicated that he believed this was his daughter, they could proceed with releasing the dental records and officially identify Kimberly that way-- and spare the Ellis's the ordeal of having to look at the remains of their daughter's butchered body. _Although in his case, it might knock some sense into him, the supercilious bastard..._

She took a Polaroid out of her blazer and held it out to him. "We have reason to believe that the woman who was found on the Blue Ridge Parkway is Kimberly Ellis. Can you tell me if this is her?"

The photo was of her face, the sheet primly drawn up to her shoulders. And while the ugly purple-black ligature marks shown vividly against the girl's pale skin, none of the other damage to her was visible. Before they had taken the picture, Scully had found herself unaccountably disturbed by the wild snarls in Kimberly's hair and had combed them out as best she could with her fingers. She had noticed Starling staring at her with an inscrutable expression, and when she had asked her new partner what was wrong, Starling merely quirked a small smile and shook her head.

There was no noticeable change in Ellis's expression as he examined the picture of what the FBI had told him was his dead daughter. "Yes," he said shortly. "This is her."

"Oh my god..." The quiet mantra seemed to be Elizabeth Ellis's only words.

"Sir, we'll need your permission to obtain her dental records."

"Why? What do need with those?" Hard grey eyes fastened on Scully's trying to wear them down, it seemed to her, as if he were trying to find some crack in her professional facade. "I told you it was her."

"Sir..." Now it was Scully's turn to bite off the word. "Could you step into the other room with me please?" So I can shoot you... She lowered her voice. "The nature of official identification is sometimes difficult." She flicked a significant look at his wife. "I'd think you'd rather..."

Ellis nodded authoritatively. "Of course. Come into my study." She caught Starling's grateful nod out of the corner of her eye and left her partner to her work.

\------------

Starling smothered a smile at Scully's smoothly executed maneuver and returned her full attention to the quietly shivering woman in front of her. Although the day was sunny and warm, there was a coolness in the room that wasn't necessarily metaphorical. She placed a warm palm on the older woman's shockingly cold skin. "Mrs. Ellis... I'm so sorry. I can't imagine what you're feeling right now."

A well-intentioned lie. She knew very well what Kimberly's mother was feeling... just as she well knew what Kimberly Ellis had felt and experienced during the last moments of her life. The sheer, unadulterated terror of not just of knowing that your life was going to end but of seeing how it was going to end. And at whose hands.

Those moments of blindness all those years ago-- when Bill had stalked her and had crippled her sense of sight, leaving only the rancid odor of death's house invading her nostrils and the roar of a hammer cocking filling her ears-- she had been in Kimberly Ellis' position.

She had been faster than death that time, but as her dreams reminded her every night-- that wouldn't always be the case. Something would get her in the end... whether it was Lecter finally growing bored of their game or the madness that stalked her at every moment.

Given her druthers... she almost hoped it was Lecter.

Her thoughts had roamed during these silent moments of Elizabeth Ellis's grief, and the woman's quiet sniffling alerted Starling to her next move. "It's hard, I know. And it's going to be harder during the next few days... but I want you to know Mrs. Ellis--" She ducked her head, catching the woman's eyes and forcing their gazes to meet. "I'm going to do everything in my power to catch whatever did this to her."

_Whatever_... not _whoever_... She wouldn't even grant this monster the status of humanity.

"Can you--" Watery brown eyes finally met hers. "Can you do that?"

"I have before," Starling responded evenly.

Mrs. Ellis nodded hesitantly as if that explained everything-- and in a way it did. This woman was in her home, telling her her daughter was dead, and promising to hunt down her killer. Elizabeth Ellis had no faith left any longer-- it couldn't hurt to believe this steadfast woman with the cold blue eyes. She gave the hand covering hers an almost undiscernable squeeze.

"But I need your help," Clarice continued.

"I--" The eyes fell again. "What can I do?" Soft, helpless words.

"You can tell me when was the last time you really talked to Kimberly." No pressure. No lectures. Just a request. Starling waited with held breath. She would almost bet her life that Elizabeth Ellis had talked to her daughter since Kimberly's banishment-- just as she would as quickly bet that her husband didn't know.

"Martin said--"

"I know what Martin said," Claire interrupted softly. "But I need to know what you say. It's very important." _When was the last time someone told her what she said was important?_ Clarice wondered absently as she bided her time. She hoped to God Scully was keeping Martin Ellis good and occupied, because at the rate she was going, she'd be here hours. Flicking a glance at the doorway where Scully had disappeared, she decided to up the ante just a little. "Mrs. Ellis, we need to know as much as possible about what Kimberly did over the last two weeks-- to retrace her steps."

"But I thought she was..."

"No," Clarice replied. "She didn't suffer like that." _Like that..._ A relative description at best. Could you really tell the difference between a day's torture and a week's? How long did it take for the mind to surrender the battle and just allow the body to endure? She still had no answer for that. "So you see... that's why it's so important. If we can figure out where she went, who she saw..." _Who might have seen her... and why they liked what they saw..._ She found Elizabeth Ellis's gaze once more and finally read the connection she had been hoping for. "It's okay... I won't tell." A child's promise.

_Cross my heart and hope to die..._

Some days that was truer than others.

Whatever Elizabeth had been planning on telling Clarice was silenced by the blustering sound of her husband's voice. "What's going on here? What are you doing?"

Scully was a step behind the tall man, an angry scowl on her face. Starling knew she'd be in for an earful when they got back to the car.

Starling rose smoothly and stepped between Ellis and his wife. "I was just offering my condolences to your wife about your loss."

His nod was perfunctory. "Thank you. I'm sure you'll understand that my wife and I have a great many arrangements to make."

_In other words... you want us to get the hell out of your house..._ Starling almost smirked at the unspoken words. Instead, she nodded in reply. "I do.. and we'll be going now." She took a sleek leather case out of her inside blazer pocket and removed a business card. "This is my card, my phone number is on there. Please feel free to call us if you think of anything that might help with our investigation." She needed some way for Mrs. Ellis to get back in touch with her-- since it was painfully obvious that Martin Ellis was going to be of no use whatsoever in finding his daughter's killer.

"Let me show you out." To Starling's shock, Elizabeth Ellis stood and gestured towards the doorway. As they reached the entrance hall, she placed a softly trembling hand on Clarice's arm. "Kimberly had a... friend. I think her name was Terri." She paused, as if searching for her thoughts. "And she managed a restaurant called-- what was it? I can't quite remember... something strange-- it was on Grove Street." She nodded decisively. "I do remember that."

Starling smiled as though Elizabeth had just handed her the name of Kimberly's killer. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Ellis. And please if you do remember anything more...."

"Elizabeth?" Martin's voice echoed from the depths of the house.

"I'll try."

"Thank you."

Once the cream-colored door was shut firmly again in their faces, Scully and Starling exchanged a weary, bemused look. "A mystery woman named Terri and a restaurant called something strange on Grove Street. Wanna see if they're open for lunch?"

Walking to the car, Scully ran an exasperated hand through her hair. "Perfect." She unlocked the driver's door and dropped into the seat. "I only have one question."

"Which is?"

"Where the hell is Grove Street?"

* * *

**_Downtown Asheville, North Carolina_ **

Scully had been prepared to spend at least an hour, maybe two, driving around aimlessly in search of Grove Street. Five years with Mulder and his almost obsessive refusal to ask for directions had inured her to the frustrations of finding her way in a small town.

When Starling had suggested that they stop at a gas station named "Joe's Pump 'n' Pay" and buy a map, Scully had almost veered off the road in surprise.

Now, half an hour later, they stood in front of a restaurant on Grove Street called "Cahoots," eyeing its closed doors warily.

"This has gotta be it," Clarice remarked, tugging half-heartedly on the locked doors. "I think 'Cahoots' qualifies as a strange name in this town."

"Doesn't look like it's open for lunch." Scully glanced at her watch and mentally calculated the hours. Now that they had a tentative id on the body, the bureaucratic wheels had been set in motion to move Kimberly Ellis' body to the State Pathologist's office in Raleigh. She would accompany the body and perform the autopsy, confirming Kimberly's violent end. They would boil the skin off the bones in her arms to match the blade striations to the other victims. They would weigh and measure her organs, test her blood, and prove beyond a shadow of a medical doubt that a madman had strangled the life out of her twenty-four year old body and then mutilated it to his satisfaction. It was not a task she was looking forward to.

"You hungry?"

Starling's words brought a wry smile to Scully's lips. All morning food had been the furthest thing from her mind-- finding Belinda Harris at their door first thing had started the day off wrong... and it had just kept going downhill, culminating in her confrontation with Martin Ellis. Now, however, looking into the quietly inquisitive eyes of Clarice Starling, she felt her appetite returning. "I think I am."

"Good, because Merriam won't have that search warrant ready for Kimberly's apartment for at least a couple more hours. Plenty of time to eat and figure out what's next."

"Sounds good to me. You have anything specific in mind?" She arched a pale brow, half-resigned to the diner food that Mulder loved so much.

"I might." A small smile played at the corners of Starling's lips, brightening the normally stern countenance of the small woman's face, and Scully found herself smiling back. She realized with a start that she had thought of Starling in terms of angles and lines-- but now she saw that when Clarice Starling smiled, a delicate rounding in her jaw softened the sharp cut of her cheekbone. It was an echo of tenderness in a woman who had no cause to show it. Especially not to someone she had only known two days.

Suddenly nothing in the world sounded better than spending a leisurely lunch with this woman.

_"You're very strong, Clarice. I think it would be quite something to know you in private life..."_

Scully had no way of knowing those words that Hannibal Lecter had uttered to the young FBI student all those years ago... but if she had, she would have found herself in the odd position of agreeing whole-heartedly with a psychopath. Clarice Starling was unlike anyone she had ever met, and Scully found herself wanting to get behind the shadows that cloaked the painfully fierce blue of the other woman's eyes. "Sounds great to me. Let's go."

\---------------------------------

"I think it's just down here." Clarice peered around the bulky form of a man in a badly pressed gray suit and looked down the street. For a small town, Asheville had a lot of foot-traffic; and Starling absently wondered if it was always this way. It would certainly make it easier for someone to follow Kimberly Ellis unobserved. In fact, she noted wryly, she had no idea if anyone-- like Belinda Harris-- was trailing them now. "Yup...." she grinned, spying the elegant hanging sign that identified the Bier Garden. "It's just down there on the right."

Together they maneuvered easily through the noon-time crowds until they reach the glass doors of the restaurant. When she noticed Scully's discreetly crooked brow, she explained, "It's where I got dinner last night. You seemed to like it okay, so..." She trailed off as an enigmatic curve graced Scully's lips.

"Works for me. After you." With a small but courtly bow and a wry shake of her head, Scully opened the door and ushered her partner in.

Munch's "Scream" had been replaced with the more soothing silk patterns of one of Monet's water lilies, but otherwise, the maitre'd from the previous night was unchanged-- and it seemed as though the recognition was mutual, for his dark eyes lit up upon spying Starling's slim frame. "Oh hello there." He grinned at her conspiratorially. "Welcome back."

Starling unaccountably found herself flushing under the satisfied gaze of the maitre' d-- whose name she'd noted last night was Charlie. She had seen him take in Scully with an approving glance as he greeted them and knew what kind of conclusion he'd drawn. Not that she minded in the least-- Dana Scully cut a beautiful, if severe, figure through the small town crowds; and more than one head had turned as she passed-- but Clarice had a feeling that the admiration wouldn't be mutual. Scully was Bureau all the way-- and a Navy brat to boot. That practically screamed "Hands Off" to all passersby.

"Can I show you ladies a table or are you eating on the run again?" Charlie's voice provided a welcome detour for her thoughts which had rapidly been heading down the road to nowhere.

"A table would be great, thanks." To Starling's surprise, Scully answered for them. "Do you mind putting us in the window over there?" She pointed to a discreet round table that gave them a complete view not just of the traffic in and out of the restaurant but along the entire street.

Charlie beamed-- beautiful women in the window was always good for business. "Your wish is my command. Follow me."

He led them on a winding tour through the crowded restaurant to the table that Scully had requested. "May I take your coat?" he asked, pulling out Scully's chair.

Starling and Scully exchanged amused glances. "Um..." she hesitated. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Two dark brows knit together in consternation. "Is there a problem with the temperature? I could--"

"No, no," Scully assured him quickly. "I just don't think you want us to be flashing these in front of your customers." She held her blazer open slightly, giving him a swift glimpse of her Sig. "You know what I mean?"

Charlie's eyes widened as comprehension drifted over his face. "Now that's what I call packing," he muttered as he settled both women in their chairs. "You're those FBI people, aren't you? The ones they called about that girl they found."

"What makes you say that?" Starling asked.

"Well, I hate to admit it, but I do know most of local authorities-- and most of them are a little on the Cro-Magnon side if you know what I mean. You two-- on the other hand-- look like Cagney and Lacey, only better dressed." He shrugged gracefully and topped it off with a charming smile. "Two and two-- and here we all are. Now do you want to hear about the specials?"

Starling was about to nod her agreement when she noticed the thoughtful look on her partner's face. "We trust you, Charlie. Why don't you just bring us something we'd love?"

He beamed at them, then winked softly at Clarice. "Guess the wine went over well, huh?"

_Busted, Charlie... Thanks a lot..._ Starling thought as she managed to eke out a weak grin at the question and ignored Scully's quirked brow.

"Okay, back in a jiffy with something." He rubbed his hands together gleefully and left Starling at the mercy of Scully's inquisitive gaze.

"Something I should know?" she prodded.

"Oh, that." Starling waved a hand. "What I know about chardonnay wouldn't fill a wine glass, so I asked him for something nice." Her eyes darted about the room searching for anything to focus on other than those disconcerting blue eyes.

Scully frowned momentarily, then smiled softly. "You could have just picked up whatever was on special. I wouldn't have minded."

"I-- well, whatever." Starling desperately wanted to change the subject to something-- anything-- other than her unexpected solicitousness.

As if sensing her discomfort and signaling her willingness to let the matter rest, a low chuckle rumbled from Scully's throat. "In fact, if I had asked Mulder to pick something up for me, he probably would have brought back Mad Dog 35." The humor in her eyes faded as she added, "In the mood I was in last night, I would have drunk it too."

Clarice Starling had spent years in the dark, chasing monsters and eluding the demons of her sleep. In those years she had never shared the horror with anyone else-- unwilling or unable to trust that a lover, a partner or a friend could bear up under the weight of the load that she bore on her own slender shoulders. Working with Scully over the last two days had shown her that the agent was more than capable in the field and in the lab; however, now in Dana Scully's quiet admission of pain, she found someone who was not only able to bear that load, but who was willing to share it with her. At least for now...

At last, Starling was able to meet Scully's eyes, unable to stop herself from responding to the strength, sadness and resolve she found there. In that silent moment, Dana Scully and Clarice Starling cemented their partnership-- each finding in the other something they never had before.

An equal.

"Some iced tea to start off with-- or can I get you something stronger?" Charlie's smiling visage reappeared, interrupting-- but not severing-- the birthing connection between them.

"Tea's fine, thanks," Scully replied absently, her eyes finally leaving Clarice's face and locking onto the discreet patterns in the table cloth. Whatever had just happened, it simultaneously put the worries in her mind at ease and set something in her spine to tingling. And it all had nothing to do with the case they were working on.

"You want to tell me what you're thinking?" Starling asked when their drink order had been taken.

_Not particularly..._ Scully's mind automatically answered. Aloud, however, she replied, "Charlie's a chatty guy."

"That he is."

"It's a small town."

"That it is."

"Only a few nice restaurants around here."

"True."

"So it stands to reason..." her voice trailed off.

"He might just know who this Terri girl is."

"It's a long shot," Scully admitted. "But..."

"We don't have a hell of a lot more to go on right now." Starling glanced around them before returning her eyes to Scully. "His chattiness could be a bad thing, though."

"Belinda." The name came out flat, uninflected, but the expression on Scully's face left no doubt about her thoughts on that particular subject.

"It bothers me that she got such a hot lead so quickly."

"Makes sense though," Scully replied, following Starling's train of thought easily. "Newsfolk tend to travel in packs. And she does have a reputation. Her books sell--" She paused. "Whatever we think of them. It makes perfect sense that a small town newspaperman would want to be chums with the superstar."

"You think the editor was just looking for his fifteen minutes of fame?" Starling's voice was skeptical.

"We could always ask him."

"Yeah, I think we might want to."

Scully nodded her agreement. "After lunch, why don't I let you talk to him and take a look at Kimberly's apartment while I make sure everything's ready for the autopsy tomorrow? Then I can join you at the scene?"

_And after I've had a chance to feel my way around. Scully, you are amazing..._ Starling thought silently. _If I'd had a partner like you back when..._ Clamping down firmly on her musings, she looked up to see Charlie emerging from the kitchen with their lunch in hand. "Looks like here comes our shot. I wonder if all their customers get this kind of personal attention?"

"He does seem fond of you," Scully replied with a grin.

Starling snorted. "I don't think I'm quite his type. You know?" Something occurred to her as Charlie sat two steaming plates down in front of them.

"No grazing for you two today," he pronounced solemnly. "It's kind of chilly out there, so you get the white chicken chili special. It'll keep you all warm and cozy until you can get in front of a nice warm fire." He grinned significantly at them both.

At the comment, Starling wanted to crawl under the table; while Scully merely looked puzzled. However, the comment confirmed her suspicions, and she decided to take advantage of Charlie's assumptions. "Actually, we were hoping tonight to take in some of the... nightlife around here this evening. A friend of mine was telling me about a place called Cahoots. You know anything about it?"

It was a loaded question in more ways than one; and depending on how Charlie answered it, it might tell her more than she had expected to learn from a stranger about their victim.

To her surprise he was nodding emphatically. "Oh yes, fabulous place... although..." He paused, looking them over significantly, "Sometimes it gets a little... uh... leathery. Might be a more than you're used to. But with the guns... who knows? You'll probably fit in just fine. Great restaurant upstairs, great dancing downstairs."

"You go there often then?"

"Oh lordy, child, no. It's _tres_ _upscale_... bring your gold Amex. On my poor salary I couldn't afford one of their swizzle sticks. But I do like to wander in and look occasionally. Sometimes the girls and I go after work. Bob the doorman turns a blind eye when we show up... although I'm sure Terri wouldn't approve."

Bingo.... "Who's Terri?"

"She's the owner. Beautiful lady, if you like that sort of thing. She's always there, charming the patrons, making them feel all warm and fuzzy." He frowned. "But come to think of it, I haven't seen her the last few times I've been in there. The gossip was that she had finally fallen madly in love and wasn't at the bar as much as she used to be." He snorted and rolled his eyes. "That would be a first. I've never known Terri to be able to commit to a conversation. And don't get me started about her mating habits... I mean, do the words 'crazed weasel' mean anything to you?" Scully and Starling's muted chuckle seemed to snap him out of his monologue. "Oh listen to me, here I am running off at the mouth about people you don't know and your lunch is getting cold."

"Don't worry about it, Charlie. It's nice to hear an insider's view of a place before you go. Kind of lets me know what to watch out for."

"Well, if Terri's there, you best watch out for her. She's a handful. Definitely got an eye for the ladies-- in spite of what they say. And don't piss her off. That girl's got a temper. I saw her get mad at a bartender once-- she heaved a bottle at him and took out a whole wall of glassware. Didn't think a thing of it either. Just chunked the bottle at him and went back to her conversation like it never happened. Damnedest thing I ever saw. Anyway... there I go again. You enjoy your lunch, and if there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to give me a yell." He patted Starling on the shoulder fraternally.

"We will. Thanks, Charlie."

"Don't think a thing of it, dearie."

They both watched Charlie greeting patrons and chatting with them casually as he worked his way back to his stand. Starling and Scully glanced at each other, both absorbing the facts and nuances of the information Charlie had unwitting imparted in the name of gossip.

"Well... that was interesting," Scully offered.

"Uh huh."

"You have any thoughts on it?"

"A couple."

"Such as?"

"Well, I think I know what the bad blood was between Kimberly Ellis and her parents was."

"Terri."

"In a word."

"So..."

"So Scully, you want to go out dancing tonight?"

* * *

**_Derrington Apartments Asheville, North Carolina_ **

Silence-- yearning, empty, aching silence-- greeted Clarice as she entered Kimberly Ellis's apartment. With silence as her familiar throughout her long travels into the shadows, Starling had spent a career walking into mourning rooms. This one was no exception, filled as it was with the emptiness of a house that was no longer a home. She trod quietly among the things that had once been Kimberly's-- a smattering of keepsakes, photos and a lot of books. They were mostly teaching manuals, she observed-- anthologies of classics, guides to the best books for children. Looking at the uniformed spines, Clarice concluded that Kimberly was either someone who loved her work-- or else was determined to succeed.

The apartment was furnished tastefully-- if sparingly-- in light woods and pale pastels. Blues, sea greens, and rose-colored accents surrounded her with their soothing hues. _She inherited some good taste from someone,_ Clarice mused, remembering the elegant decor of the Ellis family home. No dust gathered yet-- Kimberly had only been gone a short while, and the place still had the echoing feel of one whose owner has just run out for coffee. That would change soon enough when the forensics team waiting outside came in. There weren't as many men waiting for her signal as there would have been if this had been the crime scene, but there were enough to chase away the last traces of Kimberly's living memory from these rooms.

Starling heard the impatient shuffle of the team just beyond the door, but dismissed it as she continued her exploration of the deserted rooms. A few subtle changes marked the bedroom-- the space was a little messier, a little more cluttered. A paperback novel was turned face down on the night stand, on top of a current copy of _The Advocate_. Seeing its creased pages, Starling's eyebrows rose slightly. _Looks like I might have been right about the reason for the trouble between Kimberly and her folks._ How, or even if, it tied into the young woman's murder, she still didn't know.

Careful not to disturb anything, she made a complete circuit of the apartment, noting what pictures she wanted pulled and duplicated before turning over to Kimberly's parents. One picture that particularly intrigued her was of Kimberly and another woman. The shot, despite its obviously public setting, had an undeniably intimate aura. Fleetingly, Clarice wondered if this was the notorious Terri that both Charlie and Kimberly's mother had mentioned. _Definitely need a copy of that,_ Clarice thought wryly, _Once her father gets a look at it, he'll probably burn it._ Looking around at some of the art on the walls-- richly colored Georgia O'Keefe and Tamara de Lempicka prints-- she realized, _He'll probably burn all of it._ Everything that undoubtedly doesn't fit what his daughter was supposed to be. She didn't know why she had such an unreasoned dislike of the man. After all, she had dealt with blowhards all her life-- even Jack Crawford, whom everyone saw as her mentor and some saw as more than that, tried to dismiss or bully her when it suited his purposes. Martin Ellis really wasn't that much different, but still, he set Starling's teeth on edge. Perhaps it was the passionately disgusted look on Scully's face earlier that afternoon when she walked out of the study behind him that sealed his fate in Starling's eyes. Although she had only known Dana Scully a few days, Clarice knew without a doubt that she never wanted to inspire such a look on her partner's face.

"Uh..." A minute shift in the room's air and a quiet clearing of his throat alerted Starling to Robert Merriam's presence. The young detective looked around the room with shy, darting eyes-- as if there were something shameful to be seen-- or perhaps it was just out of respect for the dead woman's things. "Umm.. Agent Starling? Is it.. is it all right if we come in now?"

_What do they think I'm doing, holding a séance? Contacting Kimberly's dead spirit to find out who murdered her?_ Starling appraised the clean-cut features of the Asheville officer. Certainly he looked respectful-- and not a little afraid of her. "Sure, bring your team in, Merriam, we've got a lot of work to do."

\------------------

**_Office of the Coroner Asheville, North Carolina_ **

"Hey, Scully. It's me." The disembodied but unmistakable voice of her old partner crackled through the cell phone.

"Mulder?" Scully asked, more out of disbelief than anything.

"What's up? I heard you choppered out of Quantico in the dead of night. I can't believe they ran you out of town before me."

"No, Mulder, I'm on a case." Scully shifted the phone to her other ear and resumed signing the roughly 8 million forms that authroized her to take charge of Kimberly Ellis' mortal remains-- at least long enough to take them to Raleigh and perform the autopsy. She found herself gripping the institutional blue Bic pen a little too hard at the sound of Mulder's voice. Their partnership was at a formal end, although more often than not they still found themselves paired together-- _enjoying the best shit jobs the FBI has to offer,_ she had noted on more than one occasion. When they were separated, however, Mulder had taken to calling her at odd times-- mostly obscenely late at night, usually in some state of intoxication. From the tinny, jovial sound of his voice crackling through the line, she could tell he had already caught the train to Margaritaville. With any luck, it had just left the station, and she could extricate herself fairly gracefully.

_The middle of the day... that's a new one._

"Case? Where are you? I heard it was the middle of the boondocks. Scully, are you investigating exsanguinated cows without me?" There was an echoing buzz in the background that Scully vaguely hoped wasn't a blender.

"Not really, Mulder. One of the NCAVC folks requested a pathologist. I volunteered." Better than spending another week lecturing bright eyed recruits who haven't been let in on the lie, she finished cynically to herself.

Dead silence.

"Mulder? Are you there?"

"NCAVC?" Scully could almost hear the alcoholic fog lifting from his thoughts. "That's interesting. Anybody I might know from the old days at Behavioral Sciences?"

_Like that idiot ex-partner of yours?_ Scully asked silently. _You know, the one who stole your profiles and almost got you killed?_ Aloud, she replied, "I don't think so. Do you know Clarice Starling?"

A long, low whistle shrilled through the line. "Huntin' with the big dogs, aren't you, Scully? Keep this up and Skinner won't be able to keep you in our little doghouse."

Scully bristled at her partner's tone-- by turns mocking, wounded and envious-- and bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. _Our little doghouse-- that's it, isn't it Mulder? You're terrified that you're going to be left all alone to rot in your FBI hellhole of an exile. At least so far I've been along to keep you company._ "Is there something I can do for you, Mulder?"

A pause. "No, no..." The whirring sound again, and this time Scully knew it was the blender. "Just wanted to see what you were up to. You guys wrapping it up down there?"

"I'm not sure. We've got a couple of leads that we still need to follow up on, and I've got to perform the post." She shifted the phone again, waiting for Mulder to pick up the conversational ball and carry it to its conclusion. A few awkward moments later, she realized she would have to do it herself. "Look, I'll call you when I get back into town, okay? We'll have dinner and I'll tell you all the gory details."

"Sure, Scully. Whatever... hey look, I've got to run. Catch you later."

He was gone before she could say good-bye.

She tucked the phone back into its pocket and ran her fingers over her suddenly aching temples. Ever since the X-Files had been burned and their office closed, things for Mulder had been steadily going from bad to worse. The only time he showed any sparks of life at all was when he was obsessively reconstructing the charred remains of the files-- desperately trying to reassemble his reason for living all these years.

The past few months had taught Scully a lot about her relationship with Mulder. She knew now that they were well and truly bound to one another-- and the shackles were beginning to chafe. She had given up a career in medicine to join the FBI and had willingly done the Bureau's bidding again and again as it had cost her her sister, her child, and very nearly her life. Mulder had been with her every step of the way. Now that she wasn't willing to sacrifice the only thing she had left-- her career-- to his martyrdom, he clung to her all the more tightly. She was fast becoming his only link to sanity, and Scully knew from past experience that his will was more formidable than her own. She couldn't save him now.

He could only drown her.

Thoughts of Mulder and their five-year partnership sent Scully's thoughts careening into an unexpected direction: Clarice Starling. She didn't have to ask to know that Starling didn't work with a partner, and it puzzled her that the taciturn agent was willing to do so now. The dark-haired woman reminded Scully of a Chinese puzzle box that her father had given her one year for Christmas. Its mahogany sides were burnished with age and worn by the fingers of countless others who had tried to divine its secrets, but as sound, strong and as beautiful as it had been the day it was carved. She had taken to carrying it around in her knapsack during college and working it during the odds and ends of time that every student has, no matter how overburdened her schedule.

It had taken Scully close to a year and a half to unravel the combination of moves that would open the box. Her father had even forgotten he had given it to her when she presented it to him with a flourish. The delighted smile she received from Ahab remained with her still.

For Scully, unraveling Starling's secrets would be a much more personally satisfying experience.

\------------------

**_Derrington Apartments Asheville, North Carolina_ **

It always amazed Starling how in the crime novels and thrillers-of-the-week on TV the detective in charge always found a clue of significance in the deceased's home. Unless the crime had taken place there, such an occurrence was rare indeed, and Kimberly's apartment was no different. There were no incriminating love letters, no tell-tale footprints, no mysterious diary found.

_What a surprise..._ Starling mused, watching the techies wrap up their equipment. They had taken the photos for duplication and dusted for prints, but she seriously doubted that Kimberly had either brought her killer home or confronted him here. Nothing she had seen about the dead young woman struck her as the type who brought home tricks, and if he had taken her forcefully from her home, there would be more evidence here. Evidence that just didn't exist.

He grabbed her. _Snatched her right off into thin air..._ That was why Kimberly's whereabouts over the last three days were so important. If they could find the last logical place Kimberly had been before her abduction, then they could start sniffing him out. Talking people up, jogging their memories. Jack Crawford would call it "catching his scent." _Like she was some sort of hound..._ Starling shifted uncomfortably at the analogy, however appropriate others deemed it. It implied she was Crawford's creature-- to be controlled and turned loose at his discretion, brought to heel when deemed necessary.

Now they were asking her to be the master of the hounds.

Starling suspected that the offer had been made out of desperation by the powers that be. When Benton Wesley had stepped down following the revelation of his involvement with Kay Scarpetta and Lucy Farinelli's resignation from CAIN, it had been bad enough. Then when Wesley had fallen victim to a serial killer himself-- albeit one with a very personal interest in his demise-- a panic had gripped NCAVC the likes of which Starling had never seen before.

Starling had no interest in either obtaining or wielding power. Make no mistake, she had a healthy respect for it-- having almost been crushed under its relentless wheels on more than one occasion; but filling Wesley's shoes held no appeal for her. Perhaps it was because she had observed too closely the powers that be at work. As a student she had been dangled and manipulated at will by Crawford-- threatened, bullied, and ultimately almost expelled because of his desperation to catch a killer. She had a gift, and Crawford had recognized it long before anyone else had. He threw her into murky depths that she had been prepared for in no way...

_"A job's come up and I thought of you... more of an errand really, an interesting errand..."_

He left her to find her own way to the surface... with the help of an unlikely mentor...

_"I'll give you the one thing you crave most, Clarice... advancement..."_

And had been almost patronizing when she not only swam, but finished ahead of everyone else, including himself...

_"Congratulations, Clarice. Your father would have been proud..."_

That still stung. Father figures had populated and tried to dominate her life. Crawford, Lector were just the first two. Douglas had wanted to be... but Wesley had wisely steered clear of her, recognizing that she neither needed nor wanted camaraderie or compassion. _Just let me do my job..._ She had almost convinced herself that she didn't need anyone. Only the aching emptiness left by Ardelia's departure still echoed in her soul, reminding her-- much to her chagrin-- that she was as human as the rest of them.

You can't be human when you're chasing monsters... Would that be the first lesson she taught the recruits at Quantico? Would she tell all the beautiful young men and women who had known nothing but golden success whatever their backgrounds, _Flay yourself alive... peel back mercy, peel back compassion, peel back tenderness until there's nothing left but muscle and sinew... pain and terror coursing through your synapses... that's what it means to do what I do._

How could she tell someone that? How could she show them? It was the reason she didn't work with a partner. Partnership implied trust beyond reason-- and she couldn't even give that to the woman she loved. Taking someone with her down these sanguine corridors was unthinkable.

_But isn't that what you're doing now, Clarice?_

The voice was Lecter's. A question he had never asked, but one that Starling knew unerringly he would if given the opportunity. Lecter's voice in her thoughts was nothing new... it was as if he had imprinted himself upon her thought patterns during their brief acquaintance. Now that purring, cultured voice often spoke to her, and she knew one day she would hear it in the flesh again. For now, however, the question brought her up short.

And so, she thought about Dana Scully.

_Smart, cultured... And beautiful, Clarice. Don't forget beautiful. Do you think she's a natural redhead? Do you want to find out?_

Starling shook her head angrily, attempting to chase the voice from her thoughts.

_She chases monsters, Clarice. She's been their prey before. And survived them all. Would you like it better if she had a ragged scar down that beautiful porcelain face? Do you want incontrovertible proof of what you see in those eyes?_

Starling left the apartment to the techies and clattered down the stairs, hoping to drown out the silky interrogation.

_That's why you trust her, Clarice, in spite of yourself. When you look at her you see reflected in those clear blue eyes something you've never seen before. Yourself._

* * *

**_Motel 6 Asheville, North Carolina_ **

_I guess I'm all tied... And I'm stuck like glue to you... Cause I ain't Never I ain't Never Loved a man... The way that I love you..._

Music echoed in the small room as Scully pushed the door open and crossed the threshold. The combination of the sound of rushing water and the steam billowing out of the tiny bathroom clued the red-head into her partner's whereabouts. Although she couldn't see into the room, a startled flush warmed her face as she realized the door was open. Averting her eyes quickly, her gaze landed on Starling's narrow bed and the open "Gap" bag with its contents-- jeans and a shirt as near as she could tell-- strewn across the comforter. Her puzzlement only grew as she saw an identical dark blue bag sitting somewhat more neatly on her own bed.

"You're back. I didn't hear you come in." Starling's low-pitched voice greeted her from behind, and only years of control kept Scully from betraying her surprise.

Unfortunately, however, she had missed whatever had been said. "Pardon?"

"I didn't hear you come in." Clarice jerked her thumb towards the room she had just exited. "The noise from the water..."

Scully chuckled. "And I thought it was because of the music."

It could have been just the heat from the shower, but Scully could have sworn Clarice's face reddened a shade. "Whoops. Sorry." She crossed the tiny room and turned down the radio where Aretha still declared her undying devotion:

_I ain't never... I ain't never.. No, I ain't never... Loved a man... The way... The way that I... I love you..._

"Starling, it's not a problem." Scully shook her head. "Honestly, most days I come home and head straight for the bath, stopping only to turn up the stereo." _And to pour myself a glass of wine... Speaking of which..._ She opened the compact refrigerator that operated in lieu of room service and held up a leftover bottle of Rolling Rock. "You want this? I think I'm going to have what's left of the wine." Not mentioning that there was a half a bottle left. _Somehow I don't think our straight-arrow agent would appreciate that..._ Swiftly, she decided she needed the Clos Pegase's medicinal effects more than she needed to maintain her image. She had been feeling slightly... well, unhinged... all day. Scully didn't know if it was the combination of the case, her bewildering surroundings, and Mulder's call or-- to be brutally honest-- if it was simply the slight, but imposing, presence of her new partner that had caused her to feel increasingly out of her depth as the day wore on. The mountain of paperwork she'd had to deal with today was nothing unusual, and preparing Kimberly for transportation was-- while not the most pleasant task in the world-- routine. Something she had done a thousand times.

_"You're hunting with the big dogs, Scully...."_

Leaning back into the refrigerator, she muttered under her breath, "Damn you, Mulder." Mulder rarely admitted being impressed by anyone. And while Scully knew him well enough to write off his sardonic comment, the shocked pause following the revelation of her new partner's name had told her far more than he ever would.

Mulder was scared.

In a heartbeat, Scully realized that Mulder saw Starling as her ticket out of the self-created hell where they both now dwelled. Medicine wasn't a threat to her old partner-- he knew she would never be content to spend the rest of her life in the teaching theater. Five years on the X-Files had seen to that.

But Starling...

Starling offered her the chance to make a difference once more. To do the work she had originally come to the FBI to do. Using all her formidable skills and knowledge, Scully had a chance to walk the shadows with Clarice Starling and bring down the monsters that haunted the twilight.

The only question was: did Starling want a partner?

"Scully?"

Her name on Starling's lips brought her abruptly back to reality, and she found Clarice staring at her with an odd, almost bemused expression. "Sorry about that," she excused herself. "It's been a long, weird day."

Starling nodded, accepting the proffered beer. "I figured something had hung you up when you didn't make it to Kimberly's apartment before the techies wrapped up."

"Some nice, helpful young man made sure I dotted all my _i_ 's and crossed all my _t_ 's. The post is scheduled for noon tomorrow. I was going to chopper out to Raleigh about eight. You want to come?"

"Probably. It depends on what we find out tonight." Starling, wrapped only in one of the thin, hotel towels, settled comfortably on the bed and ran her fingers through her wet hair. "Kimberly's apartment didn't give us much, except to confirm she didn't meet our boy there, and that she probably was gay. There were a couple of magazines and books." She leaned over the bed and tugged some pictures out of the side pocket of her canvas attaché case. "I think Terri is in some of these pictures. Look at the third one from the top."

Scully thumbed quickly through the duplicated photos to the one of Kimberly and a dark eyed, intense woman. To Scully's eyes there was an air of elegant decadence that seemed to emanate from the woman's image. It was at odds with the fresh-faced openness of Kimberly's smile. "Terri?" she asked, holding up the picture.

"I think so," Starling agreed. "We'll find out tonight." She sat up and pulled the jeans into her lap, pulling off the tags that were still attached. When Clarice stood up to tug them on underneath her towel, Scully discreetly turned away.

"What's this?" she asked, fingering the Gap bag.

"Well, since Charlie clocked us as cops the minute we walked into the restaurant this afternoon. I thought we'd try a more subtle approach tonight. So I did a little shopping. Like all good towns, Asheville has a mall. And like all good malls, it has a Gap. We're pretty close to the same size, I think."

_Not exactly..._ Scully thought, catching a glimpse of Clarice's narrow hips and flat stomach in the bathroom mirror. She was aware that the cancer had rendered her own body almost unrecognizable from its former lushness. Whereas before she had always carried a little extra weight in her cheeks, stomach and hips; the disease had mercilessly stripped it away from her. After the remission, she found that she had liked her new leanness-- the curious sensation of slicing through the air rather than displacing it when she walked. So she had begun a rigorous workout regimen, spending all her spare time at the gym; until the wasted devastation caused by the cancer was replaced by a lithe muscularity that had provoked more than one inappropriate comment from Mulder.

Watching the reflected play of muscles in Starling's back as she dressed, Scully found herself contrasting the natural angularity of Clarice's body with the manufactured one of her own. While she didn't think that Starling saw herself as any sort of ascetic, the look suited the agent-- granting her an air of purity in a Bureau ruined by its own corruption and greed.

"Okay..." Scully drew out the comment, a confused and not a little disturbed by the pattern of her own thoughts. "Does that mean we're going incognito? With Belinda Harris--"

"Not incognito, just low key," Starling corrected. "It's a small town gay bar. They're already going to be suspicious of strangers. Today we might as well have been wearing "FBI HERE" signs around our necks. People in that bar aren't going to want to be seen talking to somebody like that."

"The way Charlie described it didn't sound too 'small town' to me," Scully disagreed.

Tucking her shirt in and refastening the buttons on her jeans, Starling turned to face her partner. "Small town is small town. Doesn't matter how many decorators you hire or what you call yourself. Down deep it's always there," she said flatly.

\------------------

**_Cahoots Restaurant and Club Downtown Asheville_ **

Though the jeans were a little more snug than what she was used too, Scully had to admit that Starling had chosen well. The dark jeans she wore contrasted nicely with the pale blue T-shirt Starling had also picked out. She threw on the black blazer she had worn earlier that day to complete the outfit.

And cover her gun.

Cahoots was just beginning to pick up as they arrived, and she contented herself with just absorbing the atmosphere. Starling had clearly indicated that she didn't want to go in guns blazing-- metaphorical though they were. The club was casually upscale, with those little down-at-the-heels touches that let the patrons know just how much money went into maintaining this "casual" atmosphere. The clientele was similarly dressed-down in the way that only the moneyed can. She could feel the pulsing throb of the music from the club downstairs vibrating the floor ever-so-slightly beneath her feet. Scully breathed in the atmosphere, remembering the first time she had been in such a club...

_Sylvia was two years her senior, a second-year resident to her fourth-year medical school student. They had been roommates for nearly a semester before the older woman revealed her deep dark secret: she was queer._

_"So what?" was Scully's dead-pan response. "Don't you think I've noticed just how fond you are of Rita Mae Brown's novels? And how many times did you see 'Personal Best'? Sly, get over yourself and let's go get a drink."_

_It became a routine with the two women-- who became closer now that the secret was out. Sly didn't have to hide her extra-curricular activities, and Scully didn't have to worry about awkward attempts to fix her up with unwanted dates. It wasn't that she thought she was queer: it was just that medicine was her one, true passion. She had yet to meet anyone, of any gender, who could even begin to compare. Her roommate began taking her to the dark, mysterious bars that were unlike anything the young med student had ever experienced. Scully enjoyed these outings, had danced with just about anyone who asked; and yes, had even been kissed a time or two... but nothing had ever come of her occasional evenings out. Eventually Sly met someone at one of those smoky places and the invitations to "come dancing" stopped._

Still, the safe warm feeling of those nights remained with Scully, and sometimes-- when she'd had just about all she could stand from the "good old boys" club that was the Bureau-- she would seek out one those places and raise a toast in gratitude to her old friend and roommate.

"Judging from that look on your face, Scully, I'm not sure I want to know what you're thinking," Starling muttered to her partner in a low tone.

Scully chuckled and answered without thinking. "It just feels odd to be in one of these places on business."

"Come again?" The abrupt tone in Starling's voice drew Scully's attention from the wall decor and back to the woman beside you.

"You have to admit that it's not everyday FBI business that brings us to gay nightclubs," she replied lightly. "At least not since J. Edgar left the building."

"You visit many gay clubs in your spare time, Scully?" Starling asked tightly, her demeanor screaming an almost painful discomfort.

"Well, it's not the first time I've seen the inside of one, Clarice, no," she retorted, more than a little irritated at Starling's attitude. "Is this a problem for you?"

"How are you ladies tonight?" Both women jerked around at the purring, velvet question. The owner of the voice in question was towered over both Scully and Starling, topping out-- in Scully's best guesstimation-- at close to seven feet tall.

Not counting the six inches of hair piled on her... _his?_ Scully wasn't sure... head. Cocoa skin was highlighted by a skin-tight white buckskin dress and matching white heels. Scully had the incongruous thought that if this wasn't a drag queen, then the WNBA was missing its mostly likely prospect this season. "Umm, two for dinner?" she asked hopefully.

The buckskin goddess frowned, as if considering the ridiculousness of such a request. S/he tapped her foot rapidly and consulted a heretofore unseen clear acrylic clipboard. "I think I'll have something in about 45 minutes. The bar's this way."

Not asking if they minded the wait.

Starling and Scully exchanged swift glances and then followed obediently along.

"Here's the bar, here's the bartender, have at it, ladies..."

Putting a gently restraining arm on their host/ess' arm, Starling inquired politely. "Is Terri around?"

Eyes so vibrantly green they had to be contacts narrowed at studied the two women appraisingly. "Are you friends of hers?"

"Friends of friends," Starling replied earnestly. "We know Kim from Converse, and she said the next time we were in town to look her and Terri up." Blue eyes peered innocently at the host/ess. "I've tried calling and calling Kim, but can never get an answer." She gestured at Dana. "We're only in town for one more night, and I thought maybe Terri would know where she is." A tiny shrug emphasized her loss for what else to do.

"I'll see if she's in," Buckskin agreed and stalked off, no doubt in search of more worthy patrons.

"Helpful little soul, isn't she?" Scully asked.

"As long as it gets us to Terri."

After they gave the bartender their order, an uneasy silence-- the first of their acquaintance-- settled over them. "Look, Starling, about earlier..."

"I'm sorry, Dana. I just assumed... well, let's just say when you add up Catholic, Navy and Bureau... someone who's comfortable in places like this isn't usually what you get."

"The Church, the Navy and the Bureau don't give me my opinions," Scully rejoined.

"Don't tell them that," came the dry reply.

A short bark of laughter escaped Scully's throat, and she shook her head ruefully. "That's the truth." She held up the newly delivered Scotch on the rocks in a quiet toast. "Here's to welcome opinions in unexpected places." A smile ghosted across Starling's eyes, dusting the pale blue with a warmth that went down well with Scully's Scotch. "So are you going to tell me why you're so uncomfortable here?"

Starling shifted in her seat, her eyes moving between the woman beside her and their surroundings. She seemed about to speak several times, but fell silent. After a few moments-- and when Scully concluded that she just wasn't going to answer, Clarice finally replied. "Look around you, Dana. All these people are holding hands with their lovers. But how many of them would do that outside this club or their own homes? How many of them lie to their bosses or families because they might get fired or worse? Where's the joy in that kind of life? Why is everyone here smiling?" Her eyes were faraway as she shook her head slowly. "I just don't get it."

Scully stared at her partner, dumbfounded. Clarice's words carried within them a raw, unhealed wound that was visible in the way she held her body rigid-- her fingers grasping the beer bottle as if it would ground her, separate her from the pain that was so obviously consuming her. Dana knew that she had wandered into a minefield in her partner's soul, and she wasn't quite sure what-- if anything-- she should do about it. She didn't know what shocked her more-- that Clarice Starling carried with her such a deep, living wound; or that she chose to share that wound with with Scully at all.

Much less right now.

"Whenever I hear that two beautiful women are looking for me, I always come running..."

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted as their barstools swiveled around to face a strikingly dark-haired, dark eyed woman. The woman was unmistakably the same one in the picture with Kimberly, and somewhere in the back of all Scully's thoughts, she knew they had stuck gold.

Onyx eyes darted from one woman to the other and then back again as the suggestive smile slowly faded from her full lips. She stepped back a pace and crossed her arms, her demeanor altering from seductive to sharp in an instant.

"You're cops."

* * *

Scully and Starling exchanged a look that said, _"So much for low key..."_ and took simultaneous deep breaths.

"Gee, and I had the Property of the Federal Bureau of Investigation tags removed three weeks ago," Scully deadpanned, ignoring her partner's raised brows. Judging from the dark look in Terri's eyes, this interview was mostly likely over before it had even began.

But there was no harm in trying.

"So... mind if I ask what gave us away?" she inquired mildly. Even if Terri didn't want to "talk" to them, the longer they could keep the conversational ball rolling, the better chance they had to pick up something. Anything at this point would be welcome.

A muted spark of humor fired in club owner's eyes. "Actually... nothing. Some reporter-- the one with the fat girl's name-- told me to be on the lookout for you two. Starling and Scully, isn't it? And I must say..." She surveyed the agents again with a knowing glance that made both women burn uncomfortably. "She didn't do you justice by half."

Scully shifted on the bar stool and crossed her legs, vaguely grateful she wasn't wearing a skirt. "I'm not sure that I want to hear that description," she muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

Terri smiled charmingly. "She just said to look for the pair of women with identical blue eyes and matching rabid, hunting dog glares."

"Sounds like Belinda, all right," Starling replied dryly.

"Oh, but she got it so wrong." Terri turned her dark eyes on Starling fully. "Your eyes aren't identical at all. And rabid?" She gave a delicate shudder. "Hardly."

"You'd describe us differently?" Scully asked, thinking that the description wasn't too far off the mark. Starling didn't start foaming at the mouth when she saw Belinda, but it was close there for a while.

Dark eyes flickered over her own pale ones and held them. "She got the blue part right. I don't think I've ever seen eyes quite that clear. Do you wear contacts?" She laughed lightly and waved her question off with a delicate gesture of her hand. "Of course you don't. Wire-rimmed glasses, right? And only when you're working. Some people would think they were a vain affectation if you weren't so damn smart. And vanity--" She reached out and caressed the tiny cross at the base of Scully's throat. "Isn't that one of the seven deadly sins?"

"Actually, it isn't." Scully leaned back, just out of the range of that slim fingered hand. "You're thinking about pride, most likely."

"Know your catechism, don't you agent? But tell me, do you still believe?"

Scully opened her mouth to object, but fell silent-- half hypnotized by the woman's resonant voice.

"Because that's what I see in your eyes." She ignored Scully's aborted protest. "I see doubt and betrayal there." Terri shook her head. "I don't know what altar you pray at or who your god is, Agent, but you're not very happy with Him at all right now."

"We're a little far off the subject here," Starling objected flatly, her eyes darkening with each exchange between her partner and the club owner. She had no taste for the game that Terri wanted to play. Not here. Not now. She desperately wanted just to get the information they needed and leave.

Terri turned on Clarice with questioning eyes. "You don't believe in anything-- except your own resourcefulness. You've known from the beginning that the game was all a big fix, and working from that theory has gotten you to where you are now."

_Dime store Lecter,_ Starling thought dismissively. _He would have this woman for dinner..._ She paused and considered her musings. _Literally._ She cocked her head at Terri, taking in the sleek curves of the dark woman's body. Her clothing was tailored enough to show that she had a buff body and liked everyone to know it. She was taller than both Starling and Scully-- but that wasn't saying much-- and seemed to be mostly leg. _That's where he'd start..._ The thought occurred to her suddenly. _He'd braise her thighs and garnish them with her eyeballs. Or maybe he'd save those for dessert..._

A shiver of revulsion coursed through Starling's body at the macabre timbre of her thoughts, and she knew she was exactly right.

_Of course you are, Agent Starling... You've always known, of course, that we're more alike than different, Clarice. Always have been. Now the question remains... what are you going to have for dinner? Metaphorically speaking, that is..._

"Really?" Starling's voice was disaffected, almost bored. "You got all that from my eyes? Or did you see the special that American Justice did on me about six months back?"

Flat black met even flatter blue. Checkmate.

"You're good," Terri purred.

"You're not," Clarice shot back. Her discomfort with the club and the roiling feelings that her partner was unknowingly stirring up were suddenly getting the better of her. Let Scully charm the restaurateur all damn night if she wanted to, but Starling was willing to bet that Belinda Harris hadn't. Far too many times the crime reporter had been one step ahead of the FBI agent on this case. And it was going to stop.

Now.

"Touchy, aren't we?" The taller woman asked acidly.

"We--" Starling began, only to be cut off smoothly by her partner.

"We're not here to play games, ma'am. A woman is dead, and we'd like to find out who's responsible for that. Somebody told us you cared about her. I'd think you'd want to help."

It was a gee-whiz, awshucks line that usually only worked on small town sheriffs, but Terri seemed oddly charmed by Scully's unwavering gaze-- not to mention the slender hand that now rested on her wrist.

"All right," she acquiesced, sitting down beside Scully. "What do you want to know?"

"When was the last time you saw Kimberly Ellis?"

"Three days ago. Two days before they... found her." For the first time, Terri's cool facade cracked, allowing both agents a look inside the woman they were questioning. "Is it true what that reporter said? What... what was done to her?"

In mute fascination, Starling watched Scully stroke the woman's wrist with a light soothing gesture. Though the movement was meant to comfort someone else, Clarice could feel her own skin prickle in response.

"Don't think about that now," Scully murmured. "Think about the last time you saw her."

"She was mad at me." The glitter in Terri's eyes had settled, turning the restaurateur's eyes a dull obsidian. "If I'd known what was going to happen--"

"You can't know," Starling interrupted her. Going down the well-paved garden path of the guilty of soul wasn't going to get them anywhere. "There is no reason something like this happens-- at least not one sane people can understand. It wasn't her fault. Or yours-- for that matter."

"Well, I know she wouldn't have been out on that street alone. He wouldn't have been able to grab her the way that reporter said he did."

"He would have grabbed someone else," Starling replied bluntly, not bothering to curse Belinda for her loose lips. "And then we'd be talking to her loved ones, hoping for the same answers that we're hoping for from you. You can't predict madness, Terri. You can only try and stop it."

"That's what you're doing, right?"

Starling exchanged glances with Scully. "We're trying, yes."

"Loved ones-- that's an interesting term, Agent." She laughed softly. "I've been called a lot of things, but I don't think loved one has been one of them." Dark eyes narrowed. "You talk to her parents yet?"

"I take it you didn't like them?" Scully asked.

"Her father's a prick and her mother's a doormat, but K loved them." Terri snorted. "I think I would've offed them years ago for the insurance money. They're quite rich, you know." Terri glanced at the identical frowns creasing the FBI agent's faces. "Just kidding, guys. Take it easy."

"Try and remember you're talking to law enforcement officers," Scully deadpanned. "It will make our lives a lot easier."

"The long arms of the law, eh?" Terri flashed another rakish smile. "I could get into this."

Starling sighed and, rubbing a weary hand over her eyes, signaled the bartender for another round of drinks.

"Thought you were law enforcement officers?" Terri teased, seeing the motion.

"Well, I figure since you seem to have no trouble forgetting that, so can I," Starling replied blandly. "You didn't like Kimberly's parents. So they knew about you and Kimberly?"

"Thanks Ralph," Terri acknowledged the bartender who neatly placed three drinks in front of the women. "K was the straightest dyke I ever knew. She was a schoolteacher for godsakes... Wanted the house, the kids, the white picket fence."

"She just didn't want the husband," Scully finished for her.

"You got it."

"I'd think it would be hard to be a schoolteacher and be gay in these parts," Starling offered.

Terri shrugged. "You looked around this town lately? I think it's got more per capita dykes than any other place in the South besides Atlanta. Must be the fresh mountain air we love so much."

"Still..." Starling hesitated. "You know how some people are about gays and kids."

"Some people, Agent Starling? Do you count yourself among that number?"

"No, I don't," Clarice replied evenly. "But I grew up in a small town in West Virginia. We had a grade school teacher there--" Starling's eyes took on a slightly unfocused, faraway cast. "Name was Hawkins, if I remember right. He was an English teacher. Fussy guy, very well dressed-- for West Virginia, that is-- always wearing sweater vests and ties. Everybody called him Miss Priss behind his back, but nobody really minded him. Folks just thought that 'intellectuals' were different. Thanksgiving week one year, he had gone away for the holidays-- he always did-- some drunk kids got into his mail, and found some books that he had ordered. It wasn't anything bad or pornographic, but it had the word gay in the title. That's all it took for them to turn on him." Starling snapped her fingers. "Just like that, the whole town. He lost his job, his friends, his house. He finally ended up moving on. I don't know where he landed." Solemn blue eyes focused on Terri. "I know the world's changed some in the last twenty years, but not that much. You're telling me Kimberly wasn't in the closet?"

"Kimberly was in the closet to the people who cared. Most didn't."

"So her parents knew."

"Her parents wished they didn't. But, yes, for the record, K had come out to them." Terri shook her head. "God, I hate that term. Her mother kept hoping it was a phase and her father thought it made her an irredeemable degenerate. He probably thinks she got her just reward for violating God's law."

Scully flinched at Terri's last words, and Starling had a sudden insight into her partner's last conversation with the man. No wonder she had been so furious...

"What about you?" Scully prompted. "Where did you fit into this cozy little picture?"

"That's the real question, isn't it? One that K was asking me all the time."

"Did you have an answer for her?"

Terri examined Starling with a cool eye. "I'm not the... settling type," she finally admitted. "I never have been. And I thought K knew that."

"But she didn't?" Starling prodded. At Terri's short nod, she continued, "And you two argued about it the last time you saw her."

"More or less." The restaurateur stared into her wine glass as if it would give her the power to go back and change her words. "It was late-- probably about midnight or one in the morning-- and I'd had a few." She glanced around the bustling restaurant. "Schmoozing, you know? That's kind of my job." She sighed heavily. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that I wasn't too delicate about telling her exactly what I thought about the idea of settling down with her."

"So she was really upset when she left?" _Upset enough not to notice a psychopath was following her..._ Starling closed her eyes in silent prayer for Kimberly's soul. _She probably never knew what hit her..._

Terri only nodded, not looking at the agents.

"Thank you Terri," Scully murmured. Starling noticed her hand was clasping the other woman's again, and she deliberately looked away, chasing away the unfamiliar skitterings of jealousy with the dregs of her Rolling Rock. "That's exactly what we needed to know."

"Is there anything else?" Terri's eyes brightened.

"No, but I would like you to talk to one of the uniformed officers tomorrow. He'll take an official statement about what time you last saw Kimberly. Think about what she was wearing, and if she told you where she was going, that sort of thing."

"You think she'd tell me that after I told her to get lost?" Terri shook her head incredulously. "K may have been Miss Light and Love about some things but she had her pride."

"Just think about it, Terri. Think hard." Scully handed her a business card. "My cell phone number is on the bottom. If you think of anything else, call me."

A lazy brow lifted. "Can I call you if I don't think of anything else?"

A deep flush painted warm roses over Scully's cheeks. She smiled softly. "You're a material witness in an ongoing investigation, so the answer to that is no. But thank you for the offer."

"Fair enough, Agent Scully. At the very least, allow me to treat you and your partner to dinner. Joy has a table all ready for you."

At Terri's words, the tall, imposing buckskin-clad host/ess appeared at Scully's side. "Follow me," s/he instructed the agents curtly, as the restaurateur slipped away quietly.

"Joy?" Scully mouthed the word to Starling, rolling her eyes in amazement.

Starling shrugged noncommittally, her thoughts preoccupied with her own inability to concentrate. Everything about this investigation was going wrong-- from having to deal with Belinda Harris in the middle of her investigation to her increasingly out-of-control response to her new partner. Scully made her think about things she had no time for-- like why she was so ill-at-ease in this place or what exactly the red-headed agent thought of her-- and it was distracting her from the job. Her only goal was to catch a killer.

She owed Kimberly Ellis that.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Scully's resonant voice intruded on Starling's self-castigation, halting it in mid-tirade.

Starling met the unwavering concern in Scully's blue eyes, felt an unfamiliar snake of desire begin coiling in her stomach. Maybe it was the Rolling Rock. Maybe it was the place they were in. Maybe it was simply the elegant line of her partner's jaw and the soft hair that brushed gently over the skin there. All Starling knew was that the last thing her mind was on was their business tonight. She shook her head. "I don't know."

"I'm not sure what to make of Terri's performance either," Scully agreed, misinterpreting Starling's remark. "A part of me kept watching her and thinking that the whole thing was a game to her."

"That's because it was," Starling replied absently, smiling faintly at Scully's single-minded intensity. _That should be me..._ a little voice chided her. "I doubt someone like her knows how not to play games. Even when they don't want to."

"Her lover was murdered."

"And she feels guilty as hell about it. Doesn't stop her from playing games," Starling rejoined, copying Scully's motion and laying her napkin across her lap. Ardelia had been more of a drive-thru window kind of girl-- and that had suited Starling just fine. Occasionally, however, they did make it out to dinner, especially after Del was transferred to Atlanta and the prying eyes of the Bureau weren't peering over their shoulders. _Ha... I'm sure I've got manners I haven't even used yet,_ Starling scoffed mentally, eyeing the abundance of silverware on the table. _Wonder what they'd say if I asked for Chicken McNuggets?_

"I don't get it," Scully said, draining her glass of scotch and nodding at the server's silent question. "Why the games?"

"You want the clinical answer?"

_"What does he do, this man you seek? Thrill me with your acumen, Agent Starling..."_

Starling squeezed Lecter's derisive voice out of her mind by concentrating on the intense interest in Dana Scully's eyes. This wasn't a test. "By turning her questioning into a game, the subject distances herself from the horror that has befallen the woman with whom she shared a bed-- and in some respects, a life. Studies also show that women tend to empathize more with the victims in crimes like this, very easily placing herself in the victim's position. Somewhere deep in her subconscious Terri knows very well that it could have been her just as easily as it was Kimberly. If Kimberly had been killed by, say her father in a fit of rage over her sexuality, we could at least make conscious sense out of that. But what sense is there in this killing? Quite simply Kimberly was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"There's always a trigger that sets the killer off."

"Sure," Starling agreed, pausing to take a healthy drink of her new Rolling Rock. "But no one knows what that it is. Usually it's some physical characteristic-- hair, size, age-- but it's all stuff you can't change. Besides, it's all moot if you don't know there's someone out there hunting you. How can you hide from someone you don't know is there?"

Scully pursed her lips, absently studying the menu as she pondered Starling's words. "So you think she was flirting with me as part of her game. To distance herself from what happened?" She smiled wryly. "I've been hit on for worse reasons."

"No, I think she was just hot for you, Dana." Starling paused, watching with growing amusement as Scully's jaw dropped open.

A full-bodied smile broke over Dana's face as she shook her head in surprise. "Just when I think you don't have one, Starling, you bring out a sense of humor and clobber me over the head with it."

"Well, I wasn't sure if you'd recognize one. Last I heard, Spooky didn't allow humor down in the X-Files," Starling replied tartly.

"Oh, Mulder has a sense of humor all right," Scully disagreed. "It just takes you about three years to figure out when he's making a joke. And even then, sometimes I have to ask him."

"How's he handling them shutting the Files down?" At Scully's startled look, she added, "I know if they shut NCAVC down on me, I'd be lost. It's my life."

Scully thought about that loaded statement, the implicit admission in Starling's words. However obliquely, Clarice was giving Scully a way into her, and the red-head wasn't about to pass up the opportunity. She smiled softly. "Mulder goes to UFO conventions on his vacations. I'm sure you don't do anything analogous."

"No," Starling admitted, closing her menu. "I just don't take vacations."

"Ever?"

"It's not like there's a 'slack time' in my line of work, you know? We estimate there're 20-25 active serial killers in the US alone. That's not counting those who've gone inactive for some reason. There's a lot of death out there, Scully. Who has time for the beach?"

The silence of a thousand unsolved deaths rested between the two women as they regarded each other through the candlelight. The flickering light heightened the austere planes of Starling's face, reminding Scully again of her dream of Starling as the reluctant martyr. _Saint Joan indeed..._ Scully silently mocked her fanciful musings. Nonetheless, it was that image which prompted her next question. "You can't save the world, Starling. What's left for you?"

"I'm not trying to save the world."

"No," Scully retorted, "Just everyone in it. All those innocents who don't know what walks around out there at night." She cocked a brow at her partner. "Who's going to save them when you can't, Clarice?" she asked, thinking about how Mulder's dedication became obsession, resulting in a kind of insanity that had helped the Syndicate bring down the X-Files. "What's going to happen when your single-minded dedication drives you mad?"

Cold fire leapt in Starling's eyes as they bore relentlessly into her partner. Silently she rose and threw several bills on the table. "This conversation is over, Scully."

* * *

"Clarice! Wait!" Scully headed out of the club fast on her partner's heels. The words had come out all wrong, and she had regretted them as soon as they left her mouth-- but by then Starling was already moving, already shutting the tiny window into her soul that she had opened to Dana's scrutiny.

Kicking herself for her verbal gracelessness, she ran after Clarice's rapidly retreating form, wishing she could explain why she had been so tactless. The last few months had revealed a whole different side to Mulder-- a destructive bitterness and resignation that frightened her. For some reason she didn't want to see the same thing happen to the woman who was now her partner. From their first meeting she recognized that there was something extraordinary about Clarice Starling, and-- perhaps selfishly-- she didn't want to see that consumed by a quest that would only take from the gifted woman and leave her destroyed and lost at the end of the road.

"Clarice!"

The slender figure abruptly stopped, and Scully skidded to a halt in front of her, black boots scuffing on the dark asphalt. The night swirled coolly around them, making the warm glass storefronts of restaurants beckon to passersby hurrying down the sidewalk. Scully spared a glance for her surroundings and then focused on the blankly cold eyes of the woman in front of her. "Thanks for stopping," she said awkwardly.

"The last thing I wanted was for Belinda Harris to see you chasing me down the street," Starling replied curtly. "That damned woman seems to be everywhere these days, so she's probably lurking around here somewhere."

"Clarice--"

Starling held out a hand. "Look, Scully. You don't know me. I don't know you. After you perform the post tomorrow we never have to see each other again. So let's not worry about the warm-and-fuzzy here. Okay?"

The words were clipped, harsh, and precise; but Scully detected a wavering uncertainty underneath them. She had wounded Clarice, she realized. More than she had ever thought possible.

"I'm sorry, Clarice."

Simple words, and Starling blinked. Once. Twice. Seeming to take in her partner anew. "It's nothing." She brushed away Scully's overture.

"No, Clarice," Seeing her partner flinch with every use of her name. "It is something. And I'm sorry. What I meant to say-- it just came out all wrong--"

Starling looking desperately around her, as if searching for something to ward off Scully's invasion. "Just forget it."

"No." Scully shook her head. "I won't. Not until you hear me out. If you still feel the same afterwards..." She shrugged. "Then there's nothing I can do about it."

"Why does it matter to you?"

Scully's mind went blank. Reasons, logic-- they had always been her tools. Useless now. "It just does," she finally answered. She gestured to the wrought iron table of a convenient bookstore-cafe. "Can we sit down? Please?"

Starling shrugged nonchalantly but followed Scully to the table and reluctantly took a seat.

"Thanks." Scully ran trembling fingers through her disordered hair. _Why am I shaking?_ her mind queried below the thousand-and-one-things that swarmed on the surface of her thoughts. "I--" She shook her head.

"Scully, just... let it go."

"No." Her voice, low. Emphatic. She took a deep breath. "I don't know if this is going to make any sense... but... For the last five years my life has consisted of one man's search for answers to questions I don't even think he remembers. I've seen and done things that I never thought were possible. There have been times when I've almost died." She paused before admitting a truth she had revealed to no one else. "And times where I just wished I was dead. Somewhere along the line it was like I had made a choice to let everything else-- everyone else-- in my life fall away... And that left only Mulder and the Files. I became like him. Only I didn't remember making that choice." Scully shook her head. "Then three months ago they burned the Files to the ground. Closed the project. Mulder and I were left with nothing." She laughed bitterly. "Except each other.

"I suppose I was the lucky one, I always had my medicine to fall back on. Although I knew after the X-Files that it wouldn't be enough anymore." She met Clarice's eyes for the first time since she had begun her story. "But Mulder... he's lost." Her eyes drifted away again from the intense figure before her, thinking of the last time she had seen Mulder. He had been half-drunk and disheveled-- as usual these days-- when he showed up at her Georgetown apartment at an ungodly hour. She had taken him in, given him coffee and a blanket when he fell asleep on her sofa; but silently she had raged at him, wanting nothing more than to grab this stranger and shake him until she shook her Mulder back out. Scully desperately missed the mocking, sardonic man who had been her best friend. _You're my courage, Scully..._ he had said that night, looking at her through red-rimmed, hazy eyes. _And you're my despair..._ she had thought at the time.

Now, looking into the clear-eyed blue of her new partner, Scully realized she had been wrong. Clarice Starling would never end up like Mulder. Her courage-- and her despair-- came from inside that shuttered soul. The only thing capable of destroying Clarice...

Was Clarice.

"How can you do this?" Scully asked abruptly, startling the composed woman across from her. "Day after day. Year after year." An uncomfortable anger began burning in Scully's chest, a building fury at Starling for so calmly accepting that her lot would be no more than this eternal hunt: chasing the darkness and the shadows away from everyone else while they slowly consumed her life. "There will never be an end to this, Clarice. You said so yourself. Evil will never be in short supply in this world. How can you carry on knowing that after you catch this one, there will just be another one to face?"

In the silence that fell, footsteps on the nearby sidewalk became thunder to Scully's ears, and the wind a dull roar. The wrought-iron beneath her finger tips cooled the mad heat of her skin and anchored her body which seemed to be in danger of flying completely away. The reckless beating of her heart threatened to burst the muscle in her chest; and a small detached part of her mind lurking beneath the chaos marveled that she was able to remain seated at all.

Across from her Starling regarded her evenly, and after that endless moment of silence-- when Scully was convinced that she had just made a complete fool of herself-- she rose.

The blue softened, blinked. A hand was offered. "Come with me."

\------------------

**_Blue Ridge Parkway_ ** **_Outside Asheville, North Carolina_ **

The drive was short-- only fifteen minutes or so-- Asheville wasn't that big a town. Starling wasn't sure she could remember exactly how to get there; but her body seemed to operate the car automatically, skillfully guiding the vehicle to its destination.

Her mind, freed from its responsibility to drive them safely, seethed.

She darted a quick glance to the woman beside her. She had known Dana Scully two days, and in that impossibly short time, Scully had asked-- demanded-- knowledge of her. No one else had.

_Well, almost no one... Clarice, I'm hurt. How could you forget me?_

And as before... she felt compelled to answer.

"Here we are," she said, parking the car and dowsing the lights. She leaned across Scully to pop open the glove box and became conscious of Dana's scent brushing over her nostrils. The other woman smelled of subtlety and intellect; of warmth, musk and skin.

Her mouth watered.

"Flashlights," she said and was shocked at the rawness in her own voice. "You coming?" she asked brusquely to cover the sound.

Together, the clambered out of the car and made their way down the meandering incline. The last three days of traffic through the area had cleared the overhanging branches and trampled down the brush that led to the place where Kimberly Ellis's torment had finally ended.

_A crime scene? Oh, Clarice, how romantic..._

Starling was conscious of Scully's graceful movements beside her as they wordlessly traversed the path. Her partner seemed oddly at peace having said what was on her mind, now-- it seemed-- it was Starling's turn.

"It was all over for her by the time she came here." Starling's quiet words broke the silence for the first time since they left the car. "God had her by then."

"You believe in God?" Scully's question was startled.

In the darkness Clarice cracked a wry smile. "That's a funny question coming from a practicing Catholic. Anyway... Crawford always said that in this line of work you'd be a fool not to." She shook her head. "I don't know what I believe. Never really thought about it much."

Never could afford to... Crawford wanted to think that all the bad guys went one place and all their victims went another. That there would be some reward for what was senseless suffering in this world.

"I just don't know..." she mused aloud. She focused on the dim outline of her partner. "It's a nice thought."

The investigators had left this spot, but the palpable sensation of the horror's presence still remained. For years after, Clarice knew, people would slow on the highway, point to the spot and whisper furtively. More macabre voyeurs would actually make the trek to the site, thrilling in the knowledge that this was where a killer stood... Whether or not they caught him.

She had followed that path once, herself. Three years after her first case-- after Lecter had first touched her life-- she returned to the house in Belvedere, Ohio where she had taken her first life. The papers and cops had called him "Buffalo Bill" but Lecter had always called him "Billy." As if he were a child.

As if he were a son.

She was more Lecter's child than Billy had ever been, but they had both been touched by Lecter in some odd fashion. So she had returned to that place, not knowing why, but driven there nonetheless-- by the nightmares, by the alcohol, by the breakup with Ardelia.

_The house was gone by then... the realtors had demolished it shortly after the FBI had finally turned it over to Mrs. Lippman's heirs. The basement well that had been seven women's last stop had been filled in, the whole basement cemented over. But it didn't erase the eerie chill that seized Clarice's spine and shook her to her very core._

Billy was dead. Catherine Martin alive. And Lecter...

Lecter was loose. Waiting, watching.

_"The world's a more interesting place with you in it, Clarice. You see that you extend me the same courtesy."_

What would happen when Lecter called for her?

"Clarice?"

Starling cocked her head in the dimness. Decided she liked the sound of her name on Scully's mouth. Not answering, just to hear it again.

"Clarice?"

"Sorry. Woolgathering."

A quiet chuckle. Starling could almost see the sound rolling off Scully's lips. "We seem to do that around each other a lot."

"You make me think, Scully."

A surprised pause. "Really?"

"Not many people do that."

"No?"

"It's hard to have meaningful exchanges with people when they're busy thinking of you as the Bride of Frankenstein."

"Lecter."

Not a question. The first mention of her mentor from the other woman. Starling admired her restraint.

_Isn't that what you brought her here to talk about?_ The voice in her head mercifully wasn't his, but her own. _The screaming. The silence. The dreams that she seems to know about without even asking. Did you sleep well, she asked me this morning. Was it only this morning? Seems like a lifetime ago... a lifetime with someone like Scully. What would that be like?_

"There was one conversation between Lecter and me that Chilton didn't record." She didn't bother asking Scully if she had heard the other "Lecter tapes"-- as they were known around the world. The FBI agent would have had to have been dead to have missed them. Starling's laugh was brittle. "It was the punch line to all our conversations. Without it, everything before that seems so... anticlimactic."

"How so?"

Starling's voice was faraway. "The lambs... they were screaming during the spring slaughter. The noise was horrible, like nothing I'd ever heard-- even now. Not human, but close... If I were the religious sort, I'd imagine it was the sound a damned soul makes in hell. Wailing. Plaintive. Helpless.

"To make a long story short, I was twelve. Tried to grab a lamb and run, but I didn't get far. I just wanted... their screaming to stop."

"Their suffering, you mean."

"An simple extrapolation, isn't it? I always thought Lecter had it too easy where I was concerned. I suppose I had some image of myself as a knight errant... wandering the countryside... but..." Starling abruptly twisted the flashlight off, rendering both herself and Scully as twilit shadows.

The moon was close to full, the clouds parting to allow its gossamer rays through. Clear and cool, the air danced over them, lacking the warmth from the city just below them. Starling could see Scully shiver faintly in the night. "Joan of Arc," Scully said softly.

"Pardon?"

"Joan of Arc... Last night..." She hesitated, and Starling wondered what she had been about to reveal. "I looked at you last night, and I thought of Joan of Arc."

"I remind you of a cross-dressing virgin who heard voices and was burned at the stake?" Starling's question was wry, but underneath Lecter's voice snickered.

_That's not too far from the truth, now is it? The virgin and the voices part... and they may still burn you if you're not careful..._

Scully laughed softly. "You were the one who called yourself a knight errant."

"Well, I was wrong."

Scully's silence was question in and of itself.

"The screaming stopped... but..." Her boots scuffed already disturbed leaves from their rest. "The silence is worse," she whispered. A shameful admission that no one... not even her spectral hellish angel Lecter... would ever hear.

Scully was beside her in an instant. Less. Her mind reeled as soft fingers gripped her shoulders, and Scully's eyes seemed luminescent in the dark.

"Scully," she murmured, drawing the delicate lines of the other woman's face near. She didn't think as her own hands wound themselves in the thick auburn tresses, only faintly acknowledging that she had wanted to ever since she first laid eyes on the other woman. "Dana..." An apology in the name, knowing she was crossing a line that she had never crossed before. Ardelia had come to her; never before had Clarice in thought or action said _I want...._

Laid herself bare to another's rejection.

Her mouth was on Scully's now. Cool lips on the fire that raged in her soul. Dana's arms were strong, tight around her in the darkness, protecting her from the madness that lurked just beneath the shadows.


	3. Part III - Flame

**_Motel 6 Asheville, North Carolina_ **

Clarice woke to the unfamiliar feeling of a strong, slender body wrapped around hers. Throughout the long night, the sinew and muscles of Scully's arms had not shrunk from their burden, and even now they cradled her gently.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, she had slept without dreams.

And now... now Starling was torn between squirming away from this precious tenderness and relaxing into its silent strength.

_The kiss had come from nowhere... an impulse buried so deep she didn't know who was more shocked by it: Scully or herself. When their lips had finally parted... long after Starling had kissed away any traces of the Scotch still on Scully's lips... Clarice had started to mumble an apology._

_Directed at whom, she wasn't sure._

_Scully had silenced her with gentle fingers on her lips. "Don't," she whispered. "You can explain it all away in the morning. Okay?"_

_When they arrived back at the hotel room, Starling had awkwardly changed into her sleeping sweats-- feeling as though the ten-ton pink elephant that was her desire personified was sitting squarely on the center of her bed._

_So it only made sense to accept the gently proffered hand and slip quietly into Scully's bed and the waiting arms that brought her dreamless sleep._

In the faint pre-dawn dimness, Scully stirred against Clarice. She contentedly nuzzled the back of Clarice's hair, and her fingers entwined with Starling's own.

"Tell me it isn't time to get up yet."

Half asleep and hoarse from the long night, Scully's voice was more a purr than anything; and it wound itself in the lower depths of Starling's consciousness. Whatever else happened, she would never forget the quiet morning resonance in Dana Scully's words. The embrace of this woman-- of her words, her body-- surrounded Clarice in an intimacy that she had always fled.

Until now.

_I could love you, Dana Scully..._

The words-- no more than a synaptic impulse yet to be given vocalization-- hung in her throat. All she could manage was, "You're choppering out at eight."

In response Scully's arms tightened around her, pressing the lengths of their bodies closer together. A shock wave of warmth reverberated through Starling's body, her own muscles almost crying out in pleasure at the embrace. "Oh good," Scully murmured. "I don't think I could move if I wanted to."

"Don't you?"

"Don't I what?" The husky sleepiness was leaving Scully's voice, and Starling knew it was only a matter of moments before she would have to look Dana in the eye.

_And say what? "Sorry I jumped you, Scully and I'd promise it would never happen again, but quite frankly the way you're holding me now makes me want to do it all over again. Along with some other things I really don't want to mention."_ It was no longer a matter of just admitting that she wanted Scully. Their kiss last night had done more than just acknowledge Starling's desire and confirm it was mutual. The taste of Scully on Clarice's mouth had ignited a flame that even now sparked tightly in Starling's belly, raising the temperature of the blood that raced in her veins and pounded through her organs.

"What's wrong, Clarice?"

The cool, crisp consonants of Scully's words matched perfectly the clear-eyed investigator Starling was coming to know. Cutting through the awkwardness that was so much a part of moments like these. "Do you always offer your partners such tender loving care?"

Feeling Scully's body stiffen behind hers. Knowing that it was the cruelest thing she could have said.

Not knowing why she said it.

"Actually... no." Scully shifted slightly, and Starling felt the barest hint of breath on her neck. Dana's arms hadn't retreated yet, and she wasn't quite sure why. "Don't do this, Clarice. If this... isn't what you want... Don't... Not like this."

Starling could no longer avoid Scully's eyes. She rolled over and propped herself on one arm, ready to confront the disappointment she knew would be written all over Dana's face. That look had become a staple of her time with Ardelia, and she didn't know why Scully would be any different.

"Look... Scully..." She took a deep breath and steeled herself, meeting Dana's eyes. Instead of censure, the blue of Scully's eyes were filled with... _understanding? But why...?_ Red tendrils of hair tousled from slumber fell softly around her partner's face, and the last vestiges of sleep still clung to her eyelids; but there was an unmistakable depth of understanding in her eyes as she regarded Clarice that made the other woman long to just bury her head in Dana's arms and weep like a child. "I..." Her voice trailed away, speechless.

Scully chuckled ruefully. "I know last night I promised you the opportunity to explain all this away, but... I think I'm having a change of heart." Hesitant fingers reached up and brushed a loose strand of hair away from Clarice's face. "I think..." A warm blush lit the pale arcs of Scully's cheeks as she took a deep breath. "I care for you, Clarice. And I really don't want you to stop what I think is starting between us."

"Scully..."

"And I'm pretty sure you don't want to either..." Her quiet voice overrode the trembling Starling could now feel running through Scully's arms. "If you'll just... let it happen."

"How can I?" The question-- born in the black night of all Clarice's fears-- blurted itself out before Starling had could think of anything more... logical... to say.

"Well... I think last night was a good start." Scully cupped Starling's face gently in her hands, as if the angular planes and smooth cheeks were the most precious object in all the world. She grinned. "In fact I'm pretty sure of it. But... other than that, I don't know."

"What do you mean?"

"All this is kind of new to me," she admitted with a wry look.

Starling flung herself backwards on the pillows. "Jesus Christ on a pike!" Rubbing the sleep from her own eyes, she regarded Dana with skepticism. "You don't act like you've never been kissed."

A pale brow arched. "Did I _say_ I'd never been kissed?"

"You said..."

"I said all this was new to me, Clarice. Waking up with anyone-- male or female-- isn't something I do lightly." Her next words interrupted Starling before she even had time to voice the thought. "Whether we make love or not. Something happened between us last night-- something important-- and I think you feel it too." Her eyes resolutely locked on Starling's. "Or you wouldn't be so absolutely terrified right now," she finished softly.

Ordinarily Starling would have challenged Scully's assumptions about her terror and defended the implacable facade that was her only defense against the terror. But Dana had seen all through that. There wasn't a need for subterfuge any longer. So she ignored the statement, asking instead, "What about Mulder?"

Scully frowned briefly then shook her head. "More than anything-- more than a priest needs his God or a junkie needs his fix-- Mulder needs the X-Files. What he needs from me-- what I've given to him-- isn't my body or my heart, it's..." Her eyes left Starling's, searching the ceiling as if it could give words to the bond between herself and her tormented partner.

_I don't think they have a word for what he is..._

"Lecter and me," Clarice whispered.

"What?"

"It's the same thing that's between Lecter and me," she repeated. "And it doesn't have a name. It just is..." Scully stared at her in horror, and Clarice could see her mouth twitching, almost hear the denials that sprang to Dana's lips-- but Scully remained silent, finally nodding in weary acquiescence. "We don't choose our soulmates." It was small consolation, but the only one she could offer.

"Is the line between us and them really so thin?"

"There is no line, Dana. Or if there is, it's constantly shifting. I remember Lecter once said something to me about Buffalo Bill. He said, 'Billy wasn't born evil. He was created through years of systematic abuse...'"

Scully looked at her skeptically. "Do you really think that's what happened to Lecter?"

"Do you really think Mulder was born that bent?" She propped herself on her elbows, staring hard into Scully's eyes. "Or did circumstances in his life trigger something that was already buried there? And didn't you ever wonder that if maybe, just maybe, if what had happened to him hadn't happened-- then none of it would have ever happened?" She didn't pause to give Scully time to answer. "Do I think Lecter's evil? Sure, if evil is the combination of pure amorality and genius. Honestly, Dana, I don't know if Lecter was born or made-- and quite frankly I don't ever want to-- but I can't get away from what he's done to my life." She took a deep breath. In the seven years since she had first crossed paths with Hannibal Lecter, she had never discussed him with anyone.

Not the FBI staff psychologist.

Not Crawford.

Not Ardelia.

The closest she had ever come was with another woman who had a larger-than-life figure looming over her past, her present, and her future.

_She had first met Lucy Farinelli when the young computer genius had approached her with the CAIN prototype wanting background and information. To everyone, Lucy had seemed the archetypal golden child-- gifted with genius, looks, and ambition-- but Starling had immediately seen the haunted-- and hunted-- look in the young woman's eyes. Dr. Kay Scarpetta was a devastating legacy to have to live up to. Their friendship had begun tentatively over beers that Starling had bought for the then-underage student. It was deepened when they acknowledged they both shared a desire for the love of women. And it was cemented when they both realized that they shared something much deeper-- the presence of unwanted and unforsakable mentor. She had watched with horror as Lucy became involved with Carrie Grethen, unable to do anything to stop the impetuous young agent from making a mistake she knew would haunt her the rest of her life._

_Starling felt something akin to shame for the gratitude she felt when Carrie had killed Benton Wesley and not Lucy._

_Still... the most she had ever managed to say to Lucy was a few nondescript words-- merely an acknowledgment that the specter was there, a darkling shadow that trod in her steps and would one day overtake her._

Somehow she had ended up in Dana's arms again, and this time, Starling didn't fight it. She allowed herself to curl into the heated warmth of this woman who moved her in a way no one else ever had. In Scully's arms, the tenderness was bearable. "Dana..."

"Shut up, Starling," Scully murmured. "Just let me hold you."

She couldn't help asking. "Why?"

A long pause. One that Starling feared Dana wouldn't be able to fill.

"Because it feels right," she admitted at last. "Because it helps."

* * *

**_Raleigh North Carolina_ **

The short chopper ride from Asheville to Raleigh wasn't nearly enough time for Scully to figure out what the hell was happening to her. Frankly, she doubted a non-stop flight around the world would allow her to even begin that process, much less complete it.

_Get a grip...._

The mental reprimand didn't work and, indeed, only served to highlight the absurdity of her situation. Finding herself attracted to another woman wasn't the problem-- okay, maybe it would be one day-- but it wasn't the one that consumed her now.

She wasn't sure of anything at this point, except that the hand that had seized her heart wouldn't let go. Last night Clarice Starling had unknowingly touched something deep within Scully-- something Dana herself hadn't know was there until now. In Clarice, Scully saw everything she admired, everything she had aspired to in her own life, and the terrible price they had both been required to pay for their ambition. But somewhere along the line that invisible distance that separated her from everyone-- even Mulder-- had begun to dissolve, until she was holding Clarice in her arms and finding herself wishing she never had to let go.

The powerful emotion was so out of character, Scully didn't even have a vocabulary for what she was feeling. Whatever its name, it had burst into the quietly centered calm where she lived and made itself a home of tumult and aching need. Yet through everything, there was a clarity-- as if the fun-house exterior of her emotions had a rock solid crystal center-- that guided her actions. For the first time in her life this morning, Dana Scully had spoken her heart; unafraid of propriety or convention, wisdom or logic.

_I really don't want you to stop what I think is starting between us..._

Was it really that simple?

Thinking back over the few people in her life who could have said they laid claim to her heart, Scully admitted how woefully short they had fallen of their mark. They had been stymied by the crisp precision that ruled Dana's life, unable to pierce the smooth curves of her calm or the enameled barrier of her intelligence.

How had Starling broken through?

The answer to the question came almost as quickly as the thought itself.

Starling hadn't.

Some instinct, more primal than anything Dana Scully admitted to having, had voluntarily lowered all the defenses that she might possibly have against this woman who was so much like her.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?"

Scully looked up to see a fresh-cheeked military pilot-- why are they so impossibly young?-- looking inquisitively at her.

"I'm sorry?"

"We just touched down, ma'am. At the hospital?"

Scully nodded distractedly, realizing that the last thing on her mind right now was the young woman whose remains were now in her care.

\---------------------------------

**_Twillby's Diner Asheville, North Carolina_ **

"Well, well, well... you and Dana Scully. Talk about the Ice Queens Cometh. Whoda thunk it?" Belinda Harris loomed over Starling's table, impossibly larger than life, insinuating herself into Clarice's thoughts.

Starling glanced up and groaned silently before returning her eyes to her waffles. Her musings this morning had almost been pleasant-- pondering the sweet smell of Scully's hair and ignoring all the warnings that reverberated off her heart-- but Belinda, of course, would put an end to all that nonsense. "I don't know what you mean," she replied as blandly as possible.

"Oh you know what I mean, Agent Starling," Belinda answered knowingly, sliding into the booth bench opposite Clarice and signaling the waitress. "The question for our home audience is, does the fair Agent Scully? I'm betting that she does." She repeated the ritual from the previous morning of dousing her coffee with liberal amounts of sugar and milk, her eyes never leaving Clarice's.

"How can you drink that stuff?" Starling asked abruptly. "You can't even taste the coffee."

"That's how. I hate the taste of coffee. Always have. But what else is there to drink at crime scenes? You should know that." She smiled coyly, in bizarre imitation of a coquette. "However, we were talking about you."

"No, Belinda, you were talking about me-- as you usually are, I might add. I don't recall saying much of anything."

"Oh, but you are, Starling. You say so much with those beautifully cold eyes and that sternly sculpted jaw-- I'd have to be blind not to notice. You don't like talking about Agent Scully very much, do you?" She tsked reprovingly.

"Maybe I just don't like talking to you. Scully has nothing to do with it."

"Oh that's priceless, Starling. Why would you bother denying it, if there weren't at least some grain of truth to be found there? I know you don't like talking to me-- I have the crown to prove it." She lifted one corner of her upper lip-- oddly reminding Starling of a snarling hound-- and indicated one of her incisors. "Remember Dallas?"

"I could ask you the same question."

"Ooh... are you threatening me, Agent Starling?" Belinda rubbed her hands together gleefully. "Now we're getting somewhere. Tell me, how did you and Scully meet? It's not like you two would naturally cross paths. I heard old Spooky kept her locked up in that dreadful basement office of his. Only let her out for autopsies."

"Belinda..." Starling ground her teeth together.

"Give me a break, Starling. You know I'm gonna find out. And maybe if you answer the easy questions, I'll let the hard ones slide."

_For now..._ was the unspoken end of that sentence. Clarice knew well enough that once Harris got her teeth into something, she would worry it relentlessly until she got the answers she sought.

_Quid pro quo._

A simple exchange of services. A practice as old as time really. And how she had started down this long dark road so many years ago.

One more exchange. What would be the difference? _Deflect her for now-- she'll get her nose on to something more juicy when she finds out that there's nothing really going on between me and Scully._ Her thoughts conveniently overlooked the warm taste of Dana's mouth the night before, aware that Belinda would most certainly **_not_** consider their kisses nothing.

"I might even have something of interest for you on this guy you're looking for."

Starling's head jerked up of its own volition, and she stared intently at the reporter opposite her.

Sweeten the pot. _What could she know?_ And would it be worth sullying what was happening-- no, what was beginning to happen-- between her and Dana?

Lecter would make the trade without hesitation. Hell, he'd probably be the one making the offer, but still Clarice hesitated, letting her thoughts swim free of the mire.

Red gold hair that mocked the sunset with its brilliance and blue eyes clearer than any Montana sky she'd seen as a child...

_Scully..._

This morning Scully had revealed an impossibly gentle heart and a fearless tenderness beneath the cool intellect that was her mark upon the world. It had been her gift to Clarice...

And she would be damned if she would offer it up on the altar of quid pro quo. There was always another way.

"No deal, Belinda," she said finally, rising and tossing a handful of singles on the table. "Find another client to whore your information to. I'm not buying."

\---------------------------------

**_Motel 6 Asheville, North Carolina_ **

"'Lo?" A groggy voice murmured into the phone. There was a muted thud, followed by more audible cursing, then the voice returned. "Who the hell is this?"

Starling chuckled, but kept her voice stern. "Is that any way to greet an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation seeking cooperation from a sister agency?"

"Fuck the Bureau," Lucy Farinelli said succinctly. "You, I'll talk to. What's up, Clarice?"

Starling had stormed out of the cafe and circled the few blocks between it and her hotel room before the anger had subsided. At this point she didn't know what terrified her more-- that fact that she was so protective of her feelings about Scully, or that there were already so damn many of them. Returning to her hotel room, she had forced herself to comb through the current case files, trying to apply the woefully small amount of information they had gleaned on this trip to what they already knew. Unable to come up with any angle other than those she had already covered, she called her old friend intending to leave her a message. Sometimes just thinking about the hop-skip-jump way the young woman approached things enabled her to cast a different light on her problem. She never expected to hear Lucy's live voice crackling over the line.

"Lucy, it's almost one o'clock in the afternoon. Do I even want to ask why you're at home, much less why you're still asleep?"

There was the sound of rustling papers and bedcovers-- Starling could picture the lanky agent rising, her dark red hair tumbling wildly about her shoulders as she pushed it out of her face. Lucy Farinelli-- even a sleep-encrusted, cranky Lucy Farinelli-- was a beautiful sight. "Huh? Oh, I caught a wild case last night about midnight, was out on it until about 8am. Our firebug up here in Philly is getting careless. I think we might actually come up with something on him this time."

"Oh... I'm sorry." Starling was immediately contrite. She was used to a much more reckless Lucy, but since she had joined the ATF about a year and a half ago, she seemed to have been straightening out a little. Philadelphia-- not to mention her superior Teun McGovern-- had been good for her. "I'll call back later."

"Don't bother," Lucy replied, almost cheerfully. "I'm up now." As chewing noises began to accompany her conversation, Starling wondered about the size of Lucy's living quarters. Either she had finally invested in a portable phone, or Lucy was reverting back to her single-room college days. She remembered that the three bedroom townhouse in DC Lucy had shared with her lover always made the younger woman feel uncomfortable. "As long as you don't mind me having breakfast as we talk."

"By all means."

"Okay, Clarice. What's up?"

"Wanted some input on a case."

"I'm not Bureau anymore. You've got full access to CAIN. Dunno how I can help you."

"Lucy, you created CAIN. Don't tell me you can't help me."

"Did you input your queries?" A controlled tightness began creeping into Lucy's voice, and Starling knew she had to watch her step. The young agent's dismissal from the Agency-- although technically termed a "Voluntary Resignation"-- was still a sore spot, and Clarice had no desire to cause any more pain.

"I did-- and got some hits--" She got that far before Lucy interrupted her.

"So... what do you need me for?"

"I'm convinced that there's more out there. We're just not working the system right."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh come on, Lucy. You know as well as I do all the techies did was input my inquiry exactly as I typed it. I know you can massage it..." She let her voice trail off in what she hoped was an enticing manner.

A grudging chuckle. "The guppies giving you problems?"

They called the technicians who did the actual searches for VICAP and CAIN "fishbowl profilers." These agents were technically members of NCAVC and usually had some background in behavioral science, but their real strengths were computers and programming. Part of their job as input specialists was to use their own knowledge and background to enter compatible searches and queries that might turn up substantial leads in addition to the primary agent's own query. It was one the FBI's few attempts to encourage its agents to "think outside the box," and so far the results had only been middling.

Lucy had a unique gift for angled thinking, so much so that Clarice had been really sorry when she hadn't been able to convince Lucy to join NCAVC. By that time, however, Clarice's superior-- Benton Wesley-- had become involved with Lucy's aunt. And Lucy herself had unknowingly become the lover of a serial killer. Instead Lucy joined the elite Hostage and Rescue Team until she left the Bureau and joined the ATF.

"Come on, Luce..." she cajoled.

"I don't have access anymore, Clarice. And I know you're not going to give me your codes over an unsecured phone line."

"You don't have backdoors?" she asked skeptically. Knowing good and damn well that Lucy could hack her way into just about any system around-- her own would be a piece of cake.

"Would I do something that unethical?" Lucy asked in mock innocence.

"In a heartbeat."

There was a long pause, during which Starling heard Lucy finish her chewing and drink what had to be an entire gallon of what she assumed to be orange juice.

"L--u--c--y...."

"I talked to Ardelia last week."

The abrupt statement came from nowhere, and Starling stared at the phone in shock. She hadn't talked to Ardelia since the night almost a year ago when the other woman had banished Clarice from both her bed and her life. Lucy had been a friend to them both, but in the intervening months, the young agent had been unusually silent regarding their breakup.

_Figures she'd bring it up now..._

"Really?" To her own ears, her voice sounded normal. She had put their failed relationship in the darkened corner of her soul reserved for those things she was unable to bear contemplating. Her father's death lived there. As did her mother's abandonment. She had tried to confine Lecter there, but he refused-- the memories resolutely staying with her, growing and enlarging, until finally it was as if a sub-unit of his consciousness lived in her mind.

"Clarice?"

Realizing that Lucy would misinterpret her silence as something impossibly romantic-- like a pain-filled longing-- she replied, "Sorry, Lucy. I was just pouring myself a cup of coffee. You said Ardelia called? How is she?"

"Got a new girlfriend."

A significant pause-- one that Starling knew Lucy wanted her to fill.

"Really?" she repeated.

"Yes, Clarice, really," Lucy mocked. "But she asked after you."

"What did you tell her?" Starling asked apprehensively. She knew Lucy had a "creative" streak as well as an annoying tendency to play matchmaker. These months, Starling had interpreted Lucy's silence as disapproval; and she was half-afraid that Lucy was going to try and get them back together.

A month ago, Starling realized, she would have passively welcomed this; but now...

_Now there's Scully..._

And a whole new world of possibility opened in front of her.

"I told her you were seeing someone," Lucy's voice intruded upon her thoughts. "I know it's not quite true, but..."

"I am seeing someone," Starling interrupted quietly.

The clattering sound of shattering glass filled Clarice's ears for a moment before Lucy's voice-- a little breathless-- returned to the phone. "I'm sorry, Starling, I thought you said you were seeing someone."

"I did."

"You are?"

"Yes." Starling took a deep breath. "And I think I'm falling in love."

* * *

 

"Starling, April Fools Day was two weeks ago. This is a hell of a time to be developing a sense of humor." A pause. "That was my favorite coffee cup."

"Was it the _Danceteria_ one that Janet gave you?" Clarice asked, referring to the rather whimsical party item that circulated among some of the closeted gay members of the Bureau. The royal blue cup was decorated on one side with the a clever likeness of the FBI seal with the words _J Edgar's Danceteria_ in place of _Federal Bureau of Investigation_. The other side read _Open 24 Hours. Clyde Tolson, Proprietor_.

"Yes," came the sullen reply.

"I'm sorry."

Silence.

"Lucy?"

"Yeah."

"About me seeing someone?"

"Yeah?"

"I wasn't kidding."

Another silence. Then a muttered, "Holy shit, Starling. Why haven't you said anything? I mean, Clarice, I thought we were friends, and I kinda hinted to Ardelia that you were, well, you know..." Lucy was off and running. From past experience, Starling knew she had to stop this express before it got too far out of the station or she'd never get another word in edgewise. Plus, Lucy would have her talked into a long weekend with Scully in Philadelphia, and there was no way in hell Starling was ready for that. "... And she thinks you guys might get back together..."

"Lucy!"

"...Even though she's seeing someone, I know she still loves you..."

"Lucy!"

"... You can hear it in her voice..."

"Her name is Dana Scully and she's Bureau, okay? Is that what you wanted to know?"

That shut Lucy up. "Holy shit, Starling."

"You've already said that," Clarice pointed out. "Twice."

"When did this happen?"

A wave of giddy laughter rose in Starling's throat. All morning she had hugged the memory of their fleeting kiss tightly to her. The images had replayed behind her eyes again and again, superimposing themselves over everything she had said and done. Now, with the exchange of a few words, it became so shockingly real, and Dana's words came back to her all over again...

_"I really don't want you to stop what I think is starting between us..."_

"When? Give..." Lucy demanded.

"Now. Today," Starling replied, clamping down on the laughter but unable to hide the sound of the smile in her voice. "We.... I just..." She took a deep breath to center her thoughts. "It's gonna be okay, I think," she added, more as an affirmation to herself than anything.

The silence on the other end of the phone grew darker.

"Lucy?" Starling held her breath.

"I know her, you know."

"No, I didn't."

"No biggie, I had a class with her at Quantico. I took her section because Aunt Kay was teaching the other one. Forensic Pathology."

"She's a medical doctor as well as a field agent."

"Knows her stuff, that's for sure. I had to work my butt off in that class."

Coming from Lucy-- the golden child to whom everything academic came easily-- that was quite a compliment. Sometimes Starling thought half of Lucy's problem was that so many things did come easily to her. She had entirely too much energy left over for other conflicts.

"I think my aunt knows her too."

_Ah-ha..._ Starling's mind chortled. "She never mentioned it. She's actually been assigned to the X-Files for the past five years."

"What the hell are they doing assigning a pathologist to crazy old Mrs. Rochester?" Lucy asked, referring to one of Mulder's other, more derivative nicknames. "Have they gone just as crazy as he is?"

Starling smothered a giggle. It wouldn't do to be snickering at Scully's partner. "Luce-- he's not the madwoman in the attic."

"No, he's the madman in the basement. She must have fucked up really badly, huh?" Lucy snorted. "Hey, look at it this way, if I had stayed with the Bureau, that's the job they probably would have given me. Hey, Clarice, you could be dating me right now," she teased.

"We are not dating!" she objected. Then her mind centered on the statement itself. "Stop that mess right this second, Farinelli. What would Janet say?"

"Janet would probably say, _Good riddance to bad rubbish_ , and wish you better luck than she had."

Starling stared at the receiver in shock. She had known that Lucy and Janet had gone through some really tough times, but she always suspected that their relationship would endure. Despite all of Lucy's problems, Clarice knew the young woman loved Janet beyond all reason. If something had happened to change that, it must be killing her friend right now. And hearing about Starling's unexpected brush with romance wouldn't help matters any. "Something you wanna tell me about, Lucy?"

A sucking sound whooshed through the phone as if the breath had been knocked out of her. "Naw, Starling. I can't. Come on up to Philly sometime after you've caught your latest monster and I'll buy you a beer and cry in it. 'Kay?"

"I'll hold you to that, Farinelli."

"Counting on it, Starling."

\---------------------------------

**_Pathology Labs Raleigh, North Carolina_ **

The macabre business of death wiped any blossoming thoughts of romance from Scully's mind as she worked. It was a blessing, really, because somewhere deep inside, Dana suspected that if she had time to dwell on the darkly uncharted waters into which she was about to dive, she'd just catch the next boat to shore and skip the proceedings entirely.

As it was, she was able to focus all of her formidable intellect on the job at hand-- which was finding the secret to a killer's touch in this young woman's body. A secret that all the other victims had refused to yield up so far.

"Victim is a twenty four year old caucasian female." She began the familiar litany of identification, almost identical to the one she performed in Asheville, this time for a different record. Scully recorded the position of the ligature marks, noting that she found them consistent with those used in strangulation with ropes or belts. It was her professional opinion-- as she had shared earlier with Starling-- that the UNSUB had strangled his victim with a belt and not his bare hands. In fact, nothing she found deviated in any way, shape or form from the other victims.

Until she got to Kimberly's uterus.

"Bingo," she whispered. Here was the damage that Starling had been looking for and hadn't found.

_Doesn't this all seem too tidy to you, Scully?_ she had asked.

Looking at the ruins of the young woman's reproductive organs, Scully had to say it didn't look very tidy at all. The vibrator-- an object designed very specifically not to do damage-- had pierced the uterus itself and all but shredded Kimberly's ovaries. Kimberly very likely would have bled to death if her killer hadn't strangled her first.

"So he doesn't kill them beforehand. He'd have to have someplace permanent to work if he did this to them alive," she muttered. Her mind raced over the autopsy protocols from the other victims. To her recollection, none of them had mentioned the condition of the uterus. "Or maybe there just wasn't anything to note. If this is a first time thing, there might be something else..." Sharp eyes ran over Kimberly's body again, this time zeroing in on her hands and fingers. "If she was alive when the bastard did this do her, I bet she fought like hell..."

_I know I would have..._

"There might be something under her fingernails. The very something that the other victims hadn't had."

_Clarice's voice echoed in her mind, patiently lecturing her about the mind of madness. "The UNSUB keeps doing this and doing this. Each time getting less and less satisfaction, until he has to change. Up the ante. We call it decompensating. That's the best time to catch one of these monsters. They get careless because they begin to lose control over the scenario because they're losing touch with reality. It's how they caught Bundy and Lecter..."_

_"But Lecter wasn't..." Scully had carefully let her question trail away._

_"Losing touch?" Starling had chuckled darkly. "Nope. Not at all." Her eyes took on a faraway cast as she considered her erstwhile mentor. "Sometimes Scully," she took a deep breath and another long swig of Rolling Rock. "Sometimes I think he did it because he got bored."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"I mean, how can you prove you're the smartest person in the room when nobody knows you're there?"_

_Scully's brows had furrowed._

_"In Lecter's universe he was god. He had the power of life and death. He chose who would escape his wrath." Starling shook her head. "You're a Catholic, Dana. Think about it. What would your God be like if he didn't have anyone to worship him?"_

_"Good grief..." Scully had muttered._

_"Insanity didn't bring Hannibal Lecter down. Hubris did."_

Scully shook her head to clear the conversation from her thoughts and to focus on the delicate task of taking scrapings from Kimberly's hands. According to the chain of evidence, Kimberly's hands had been bagged immediately upon discovery of the body, and hadn't been touched since.

Of course, the task was a little easier this time. Kimberly's hands now rested neatly in a Ziploc bag beside the young woman's head.

\---------------------------------

**_Bell Chere Festival Downtown Asheville_ **

Starling thought about going to the Bier Garden for lunch, but at the last minute swerved her steps away from the restaurant's beckoning door. Usually eating alone didn't bother her-- in fact, it was normally her preference-- but sharing meals the last two days with Scully was threatening to change that. Shaking her head at her foolishness, Starling crossed the street and made a bee line for a small lunch-counter that she had seen a block or so down. The place had the hectic bustle typical of an establishment increased by the ebb and flow of a happy-go-lucky Saturday crowd populating the arts festival.

Hot dog in one hand and soda in the other, Starling began to stroll the main drag of the festival, allowing her mind to drift in that "diagonal" way that always irritated and baffled Jack Crawford. Crawford, along with John Douglas, had attempted to make profiling as close to an exact science as they could. They categorized, classified, documented, and patterned their way through countless volumes. They had been the driving force behind VICAP with its crisp clear input queries. When Benton Wesley had introduced the first CAIN prototype and the young computer genius behind it, the older men had both almost gone into apoplectic shock. One of the truly innovative things about CAIN wasn't that it was a simple database. What Lucy had added to that relatively straightforward program was an input query that basically allowed the operator to free associate. CAIN would then string the words together in various combinations until something helpful to the operator came out. In a way it was limiting, because it relied on the ingenuity of the user. Of course Lucy had her Aunt Kay and Benton as her role models, so-- for her-- the user's intelligence had never been in question.

_Now as far as the rest of the Bureau is concerned..._

VICAP remained the preferred method of cyber-research for 90% of the Bureau, but others-- Starling included-- loved its diagonal method of search. It was how she had discovered her latest UNSUB's previous handiwork.

"Lovely color, isn't it?"

Starling's head whipped to the side, eyes landing squarely on a slender, middle-aged woman with long black hair streaked with gray. She gracefully wore a long, baggy taupe skirt and matching scoop-necked blouse. The delicate lines of crows feet had just begun their spidery journey across the woman's face, and Starling had the sudden instinct that this woman smiled a great deal. The stranger carried on her shoulders the quiet dignity of someone who is at peace with their life.

Starling involuntarily smiled back, appreciating her charm. Following the line of the woman's sight, Starling's glance settled on a delicate silk scarf hanging elegantly with a number of others in one of the booths. Although it was only one of many, Starling knew instantly the one to which the woman was referring. The combination of greens, golds and burgundies seemed to sing to her. It was the sort of thing that Starling would never-- could never-- wear. To wear a silk scarf of that color and vibrancy took a elegance that she knew she was never have.

It would look fabulous on Scully.

"It's beautiful," she admitted, unaware of the slight coloring in her cheeks-- courtesy of her thoughts of the other agent.

"Try it on," the woman suggested, moving towards the silk.

"Oh no," Starling held out her hands. "Not for me."

The woman's head lilted slightly, appraising Clarice with benevolent grey-green eyes. "For a friend, then. Yes?"

An unwilling smile crept around the corners of Starling's mouth. Soo busted... Lucy's voice chortled in her ears.

"Is this yours?" she gestured at the tiny booth, lush with cool silk and ardent color.

The woman inclined her head in acknowledgment.

"Amazing..." Starling muttered softly, her hands running over the material of a hundred different patterns. "Do you have a shop here?" She fished in her blazer pocket for her identification and money, careful that her service piece remained concealed.

"No, I live in Minnesota, but we always come down here for the spring season." The woman chatted easily as she wrapped Starling's purchase in folds of tissue paper to protect it. "The weather's so lovely around here for so long that there are literally hundreds of festivals like this. We just travel from one to the other. Then, when it starts getting hot and uncomfortable, we go back home." She took Starling's cash and opened a tiny locked box to make change.

"Isn't living in hotels hard, though?" Starling frowned. "And how do you store all these beautiful things?"

The woman laughed warmly, and Clarice decided she liked that sound. "No, no... If we had stay in hotels..." She shuddered. "There's no way I could do that. No matter how good the money."

"Then..."

"We have a Land Cruiser. All the comforts of home, without the home." She laughed. "Honestly, I think that thing really is bigger than the first house we owned."

The hairs on the back of Starling's neck prickled. She had wondered how... "Where do you park it?"

"Well, you don't exactly just park it. There are lots camp grounds around here. The mountains are just beautiful. There are places that have electrical and running water hook up. So you just drive right up."

Her mind was racing. "Are there more..." she chose her words carefully, "Secluded camp grounds?" She elaborated, "You know, like if someone had one of these things, but wanted to be alone."

"You mean camping, but not really?"

"Exactly."

"Oh sure. There are lots of things like that." The woman nodded. "But Chris and I really like our comforts..."

Starling forced herself to concentrate on the last of the woman's words until she was slowly able to extricate herself from the conversation. Taking her package and tucking it under her arm, she waved amiably at the woman and lost herself in the crowd, her thoughts tumbling over themselves haphazardly-- like the churning ocean in a hurricane.

_That's how he can work on them and still not leave anything at the body site. He's working them over in his Cruiser and then dumping them. Nobody's gonna look twice at a Land Cruiser parked on the side of the road. God knows, I didn't. There are so goddamned many of them around here. How could be I so fucking stupid... You are losing it, Starling..._

Her self-castigation was cut short by the chortling of her cell phone.

"Starling."

"Starling, it's me."

A pause. "Scully... I think I know how..."

Scully's voice cut roughly into her, the agent's tone almost as excited as Starling's. "He's getting careless, Clarice. We got scrapings."

Starling thought her heart would stop. "How?"

"Under Kimberly's nails. There's something... different this time, Clarice. I think he's beginning to decompensate." Through the unsteady crackle of their cell phone connection, Starling could hear Scully moving rapidly up a flight of stairs. She knew Scully was going up by the increasing harshness of her partner's voice. "I'm choppering these samples to DC right now. I've got some people in the Bureau's lab who'll rush this through and do it right. You wanna grab a flight up here for the results?"

Starling hesitated, thinking about her news. But if he really was decompensating, that probably meant he was going to stick around a while. Not to mention the fact that he had perfect camouflage.

"You could pick up some fresh clothes." There was a pause, then more quietly. "And I could take you out for a proper dinner."

The analytical part of Starling's mind screamed in outrage. Not only was this not the time or the place for personal involvement, it was seriously beginning to hamper her effectiveness. Maybe if she hadn't been so preoccupied with Scully during their first meetings, she would have paid more attention to her surroundings. Seen the Land Cruisers and made the connections earlier...

But while her thoughts objected vociferously, Starling found herself replying with a smile in her voice. "I'd like that, Scully."

* * *

  1. **_Edgar Hoover Building Washington, DC_**



Lightning tentacles of exultation gripped Scully's chest as she stepped off the elevator and strode through the corridors of the Laboratory Unit in the J. Edgar Hoover building. The faces on this floor were familiar, and several people looked up and nodded respectfully as Scully passed. She returned their taciturn greetings with nods of her own before entering a glass enclosed workstation. "Barry?" she called quietly. "You here?"

One of three figures identically clad in pristine white lab coats detached himself from a high-powered microscope and crossed the room. He was conventionally FBI-issue handsome, with the prerequisite square jaw and close cropped blond hair. A smile creased tiny wrinkles into his eyes. "Agent Scully," Barry Winfield-- head of the DNA Unit #1-- greeted her, an unmistakable tone of pleasure in his voice. "Don't tell me you've finally come to your senses. Welcome home. Got your microscope all warmed up for you."

Scully's refusal to work for the "lab-coat cowboys"-- as Barry's division was known-- had been continuous and unhesitating. He had been recruiting her since she had come to the Academy, and now, after she had turned him down-- both personally and professionally-- the offer had become something of an easy joke between the pair. She had chosen forensic pathology because it enabled her to combine the best of what brought her to both the FBI and medicine.

Scully chose medicine because she wanted to serve people. She chose the FBI because she wanted to serve her country. While she recognized that pathology required a certain amount of detachment, she still had a name and face (usually) to place with her work. Barry's people were immersed in fluids, fibers, and swatches. Human life was reduced to it most basic components here-- and that was a degree of detachment she never wanted to achieve.

"Sorry to disappoint, Bar--" she grinned at him, some of her excitement bleeding through. "But not today."

"Then I suppose you have something for me?" He quirked his brows at the Ziploc baggies in her hand. "Please don't tell me it's labeled, _Unidentifiable matter, possible extraterrestrial origin."_ He held up a placating hand. "It's bad enough I'm in the lab on a Saturday."

Scully chuckled in mock sympathy. "Nope, regular old crime scene. But it's hot, Barry. I need this like now."

The tall agent cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Scully, that's the single most romantic thing I think you've ever said to me."

"And it's about the only one," somebody called over his shoulder.

Barry rolled his eyes mournfully. "See what I have to put up with? This is why I need you with me. I pour my heart and soul into these people and what do I get?"

"Abuse... Nothing but abuse." Came the chorus of voices. Barry's comedic litany of woe was a familiar one around the lab. He drove his people ruthlessly, demanded more from them than they ever thought possible-- but in return he drove himself just as hard, demanded just as much from himself, and protected his people fiercely from the field agents who thought their case was always the most important one and the brass upstairs who thought "lab error" was the perfect way to pass a buck. The FBI labs had been under attack for years now, culminating with the cluster-fuck that had been the OJ Simpson case-- but Barry's people had remained above reproach. In a departmental shuffle that had replaced the heads of three of the five Laboratory sections-- the forensic and scientific analysis sections had been hardest hit. Of all the forensic unit heads, he was the only one who remained.

"I give, I give," he surrendered to his staff. "What's the Spooky-special today?" He gestured towards his "office," a separate laboratory station through a narrow hallway. "Let's take a look. What's it from?"

"Serial killer."

Barry's blond head jerked up from where he had been focusing on the baggies resting on the stainless steel table. "They got Mulder working NCAVC?" He whistled softly. "Didn't think he'd go back, especially with the section in such a mess."

Scully suppressed an spear of irritation. "I'm not working with Mulder," she snapped. Seeing Barry's surprised green eyes, she appended. "At least on this case." Mulder's disgrace had become hers, and some primal coil deep inside made her defend him-- and by extension, their partnership-- even as another part of her scrambled for freedom.

Barry pursed his lips slightly and shrugged. It was well-known around the bureau that inter-agency politics didn't interest him. Scully did, but only because-- as he had told her a dozen times-- he thought she would be a perfect addition to his team. "How'd you get involved?"

"The SAC requested help from pathology. I volunteered. This is the first break we've gotten in seven vics."

"Seven?" Scully could almost see Barry's brain whirring. "Starling?" he asked incredulously.

Now it was Scully's turn to shrug. "She wanted another pair of eyes on the autopsies."

"Good thing." He nodded at the bags. "You got something."

"I think it's timing more than anything. He's beginning to escalate."

"And the Bird-dog's on his trail," Barry sang off-key.

Aware that her growing feelings for the other woman was heightening the adrenaline rocketing through her veins, Scully choked off the sharp retort about Starling's nickname that sprang to her lips. Rumors got started around the Bureau at the drop of a hat-- less really-- and for the first time, she considered that all those stories circulating about Mulder and her might not be a bad thing. Instead, she decided to have a little fun. Smiling coolly and asking, "You know, there's something I've been wondering," her voice seemed to lower and her eyes darken mysteriously.

Barry swallowed convulsively. "What's that?"

"Well, I know they call Mulder, _Spooky_ , and Starling, _Bird-dog_. I've even heard someone call Skinner, _Chrome Dome_."

"Yeah?"

"So, Barry..." Scully arched one perfect eyebrow. "What, exactly, do they call me?"

"Well... uh, Scully... you see..." he stuttered. "I don't think that's really important."

"And why's that?"

"Uh... 'cause... well, you see... I think it's about to change."

A warm, low laugh rippled silkily around the room as Scully nodded. "Change is a good thing, Barry. Keep that in mind."

"I'll do that."

She glanced at the evidence on the table. "When can I have the results?"

Instantly Barry snapped back to attention. That was one of the best things about the man, Scully thought, he knew how to take a joke and not take it too far. In that way, he was like Mulder. She could see the calculations running through his head. "Well, it's not like I have too many plans for this evening-- since you haven't offered to take me to dinner or anything."

"And I'm not going to..."

"So I guess I could have something back tomorrow. Just to tell you the basics. You got something from the vic?"

She tossed him another set of baggies and pulled a manila folder from briefcase. "Here's the prelim on the autopsy. Blood work is coming out of Raleigh..."

"Where?" he teased. "Where's that?"

"But I brought you some too. Just so you wouldn't feel left out." She nodded at the small red vials. "We don't think he drugs them for the snatch-- or at least toxicology hasn't shown anything so far, but we're still not sure how he grabs them. You could test kinda off the chart..." She raised an eyebrow.

"Will do?" He cocked his head. "We, huh? You and Bird--" He caught himself. "You and Starling?"

Scully nodded.

"I didn't think she worked with a partner."

"Neither did I," Scully admitted. Then she grinned. "I told you, Bar. Things change."

\---------------------------------

Humming softly to herself as she watched the elevator floors tick downward, Scully felt a subtle shift in the energy enveloping her. Right now, the case was out of her hands and in Barry Winfield's very capable ones. There wasn't anything more she could do until they got the results back. If the news was good-- and deep in her gut, Scully suspected that the news would be-- they'd have their first break. She and Starling would be well on their way to catching this bastard.

_You and Starling?_

Barry's innocent question rang in Scully's ears, the three words filling her with an unexpected pleasure. The day's activities had consumed her, leaving no time for her to consider the possibilities that the words "You and Starling" implied. Now she had time aplenty and the enjoyable prospect of spending an evening with Clarice Starling far away from any possible crime scene.

She had surprised herself by asking Clarice to come to DC to await the results. As soon as the question had escaped her lips, she began mentally berating herself and waiting for Starling's polite refusal. If Starling had been having second thoughts about the rather extreme turn their relationship had begun taking, this was the perfect time to extricate herself. After all, Scully had fulfilled her professional responsibility-- once the autopsy was done, Starling didn't have to involve her in the investigation any further. She could have requested a fax to the hotel in Asheville, and Scully would have gotten the message.

_She could have... but she didn't..._

Unlocking the driver's door of her department issued gray Taurus, Scully began running a mental checklist. Her apartment was immaculate, as usual-- not even a magazine out of place-- although there probably was only a couple of bottles of wine in the pantry and some cheese in the refrigerator. "Not exactly the stuff of gourmet dinners," she muttered, backing the Taurus out its parking spot and heading for the garage exit. She briefly considered cooking for Starling and then rejected it. For Scully, there was something intensely intimate about cooking for someone-- and she didn't know enough about Starling to know how the other woman would receive the gesture. That solved the empty icebox dilemma quite nicely, she thought. "So we go out," she told herself. Several of her favorite restaurants were in Dupont Circle-- which, conveniently, was also the heart of DC's gay area. "Too obvious?" she asked the rearview mirror. Starling didn't exactly seem the type comforted by being around other gay people. "But it's not like everyone's necking on the street..." she objected. Then she remembered the last time she had taken Mulder to her favorite coffee shop. It was a little two-story walk up that used to be a private home, but like so many of the other houses in the area, had been converted to a commercial purpose.

She and Mulder had been enjoying a rare afternoon off. He had surprised her _by suggesting that they get out of the dank basement office they shared. "Come on, Scully. It's gorgeous outside. Seventy-five and sunny. I think even Skinner's gone fishing. Let's play hooky." He gave her the pleading puppy look that always worked best in situations like this._

_She allowed herself to be convinced, but only on the condition that she got to choose where they went._

_Eschewing their Bureau car, they strolled through the neighborhoods like a couple of tourists until Scully steered them to the small house simply called, "Ma's." Claiming two iced mochas, Mulder gestured to the little courtyard outside. "Come on, let's sit out here."_

_They settled at a little wrought iron table and took out their sunglasses to shield their eyes from the Indian Summer glare. Scully sighed contentedly and began to watch the parade of human traffic in front of them. For once, Mulder seemed equally content with their silence, only offering occasional, wry comments. "Uh, Scully..." he ventured after watching the second set of hand-holding men pass in front of them._

_"Yes, Mulder?" Scully answered, waiting for the next inevitable question._

_"Didn't you say you came here all the time?"_

_"Yup, usually every Sunday when I'm in town. There's a terrific Italian place a couple of blocks down if you want to get some dinner later."_

_He lifted a hesitant brow and gestured at a passerby with a rainbow sticker on her backpack. "This neighborhood seems a little... uh... colorful for you."_

_"That bother you, Mulder?" She prodded, wanting to tease him even more and enjoying the red creeping around his ears. "That people around here probably think I'm gay."_

_"No way..." He shook his head emphatically. "They don't think you're gay."_

_"How do you figure?"_

_"You don't look gay, Scully. You don't give off that 'gay vibe.'" He rolled his shoulders for effect, grinning back at her when she laughed at his antics. "In fact, I look more gay than you do," he pronounced piously._

_"You do, huh?"_

_"Absolutely. They probably all think you're my fag hag."_

_A spray of mocha shot out Scully's nose as she inadvertently inhaled and expelled the liquid just as rapidly. "Mulder!" she wheezed._

_"You okay, Scully?" He whacked her on the back in a comically soothing manner. When she had regain at least some of the use of her lungs, he winked at her conspiratorially. "I bet I can get a date faster than you can..."_

_And so that was how she found herself unexpectedly double-dating that night..._

She grinned at the memory of the evening, her partner's little boy charm. The pair they had dinner with that night had actually ended up being pretty good friends. It was been one of the last good times she and Mulder shared, before everything turned to shit and she lost the best friend she ever had. Impulsively she grabbed the cell phone in her pocket and flipped it open. Her finger hovered on the speed dial button, then she sighed and tossed the phone down, quietly mourning for the past. Lost in her own thoughts, she glanced up to see the light had turned green. She never looked to her right, to the station wagon that was sprinting through the intersection, trying to make it through a non-existent yellow light.

All she remembered was the abrupt, unexpected impact-- the feeling of a thousand baseball bats slamming against her body.

Then everything went dark.

\---------------------------------

**_Mercy Hospital Washington, DC_ **

"Oh Christ..." she muttered, the weight of her head dragging the rest of her body down into a viscous darkness.

"Not quite." The voice over her was dry and quietly familiar. It tickled the edges of her awareness, and she didn't know why, but a warm feeling curled upward from her belly. "If this is your idea of a proper dinner, Dana, I dunno... I think I might have to reconsider this whole thing. I hate hospital food."

Scully's face formed itself into a smile before it realized that movement triggered pain. The smile became a grimace, but nonetheless remained on her face as she pried her eyelids open, winning the battle with consciousness. "Hey there."

"I hadn't even gotten good and out of the chopper before my cell phone went off," Starling continued, a sparkle of mischief covering the worry that had masked her eyes for the last two hours. "I thought it was you, so I answered the phone all sexy and all..."

"You did?" Scully asked skeptically, the urge to arch an eyebrow making her aware of the bandage over her left temple.

"I'm telling this story, lady, not you," Starling shushed her. "Anyway... it was the hospital. The dispatch guy thought he'd died and gone to heaven. They found my name and cell phone in your pocket. They were gonna call your mom too, but when they said you weren't in any real danger, I told them to hold off." She shrugged diffidently, remembering the phone call that told her of her father's fate. "I figured you didn't want to worry her if you didn't have to."

"Thanks." Scully sighed in relief. Her mother had been the forced to answer too many phones bearing bad news because of her. One less wouldn't hurt any. "I appreciate it." She glanced around and noticed that no one seemed to be paying them any mind. Silently, she slipped her hand over Starling's, unprying the other woman's fingers from the bed railing. The grip that returned hers was surprisingly strong.

"You scared me," Starling muttered, her words almost inaudible.

"Sorry."

Starling jerked her head towards the hallway. "Not as sorry as the kid that hit you. Seventeen years old and just got his driver's license."

"Is he okay?"

Seeing the worry in Scully's eyes, Starling nodded quickly. "Not a scratch on him, but his mom's car is totaled and he's terrified that the FBI is gonna take him away for hitting one of their agents."

Scully's heat hit the pillow and she groaned. "Oh no. Tell me it didn't go out."

"Ayup... when the blue boys ran the tag, they called it in. You had a room full of black suits out there waiting to scare the bejesus out of their skel-- which turned out to be a teenager." She grinned. "You got a hell of a response, seems like a lot of folks down at J. Edgar like you."

It was on the edge of her tongue to ask if Mulder had been there... and as if her thoughts made the flesh real, her partner strode through the swinging hospital doors, ignoring the harassed calls of the nurse. "Scully..."

Jeans, a hooded Redskins sweat shirt, and sockless Topsiders replaced the suit and tie she was used to seeing him in. His hair was longer than usual, and the cowlick fell almost into his eyes-- which were wild-eyed and almost frantic. He didn't seem to notice the woman standing quietly by Scully's bed.

"Mulder," she greeted him in the old way, a hint of a smile to welcome him and try to gentle that flicker in his eye. "This one wasn't my fault." She gestured to the bandage on her forehead.

"What happened? All I heard was the agent-incident code. Frohike couldn't tell me much... "

Starling had slipped her hand free of its embrace and stepped back a pace. Scully's fingers involuntarily curled into the sheet, missing the warmth of Clarice's hand clasped in her own.

"Frohike?" Scully frowned. "Don't tell me he monitors Bureau communications?"

"You think that Cancerman..."

Scully's eyes snapped coldly. "It was an accident, Mulder. It had nothing to do with him."

"How can you be so sure?" he persisted. "He won't be happy with the files just being..."

"It was a seventeen year old boy, Mulder. I don't think they're recruiting quite that young." Her head fell back to the pillow in weary irritation. Everything in Mulder's life tied back to the files. There was no room for coincidence, for life outside their dank grip, for hope. _For love..._ she thought, glancing at Clarice.

The eye-contact brought the silent woman to Mulder's attention. "Oh, I'm sorry..." His glance flickered back and forth between the two woman, and Scully could see his brain trying to place Clarice.

"Mulder, this is Clarice Starling. Starling, Fox Mulder."

Taking her cue, Starling stepped forward and offered him her hand. Scully noted regretfully that it was the same one she had just been holding. "Agent Mulder, good to meet you. Douglas and Crawford speak highly of you."

_Speak_ , Scully noted, not "spoke." Not reminding Mulder of how far he had fallen.

Mulder accepted the hand, shook it briefly, but Scully could see the shifting expressions on his face-- inscrutable to so many other people. He seemed to deflate before her eyes, the hollows in his cheeks becoming more pronounced, the haziness in his eyes returning until the fleeting glimpse of her old partner and his manic energy vanished, leaving only ruined magnificence in its wake.

He seemed to pause, take in the measure of this woman standing over his partner's bed, and nodded silently. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "My ears are ringing, but everything else seems to be working fine. I'll probably see if they'll spring me in an hour or so." She glanced at Starling. "I hate hospital food."

A flicker of a smile from the brunette in wry acknowledgment.

Mulder's eyes caught the look, and Scully saw his own glance probing the connection she knew he could sense there.

He hesitated and seemed to consider his words. "Okay. You want me to hang around? Your ride's kinda out of commission." Referring to the Taurus.

Her eyes involuntarily sought Clarice's, and she knew she was failing whatever test Mulder was administering, but she couldn't help it. A night with Mulder mean trying to reconstruct the past... when all she could see was the woman in front of her.

The future.

* * *

**_Georgetown Washington, DC_ **

"Thanks for running interference for me with Mulder..." Scully said as she flicked the last deadbolt loose and opened the door to her apartment. After a little haggling with the admitting resident, she had been released from the hospital with the stern warning to take it easy and not to be alone for the evening.

She and Starling had only exchanged quietly amused glances at this admonition and nodded seriously.

"He wasn't too happy about it," Starling grimaced, remembering the scathing look Mulder had shot her when Scully was signing the thousand-and-one pages that guaranteed her freedom from hospital food. Shouldering her own travel bag as well as Scully's, Starling stepped through the threshold for her first look into Dana Scully's private world.

It was as immaculate as she thought it would be and decorated in tastefully subdued pastels and whites. Involuntarily, her mind flickered back to the Ellis's house they had seen two days ago. There was a similar elegance here, but it seemed to Starling that Scully's apartment didn't try so hard. This was the home of someone for whom grace was a natural inheritance. Her eyes were drawn to a pair of Bass loafers resting haphazardly under the coffee table. Scully must have kicked them off one night after she had come home. To Starling, this was a comforting human reminder in an apartment that could have otherwise seemed intimidating.

_No cheap shoes for her... hmm, Clarice?_ Lecter's voice purred, returning once more to her ears. _She's got that touch of class **you've** been nosing around for all these years. Think you can pick up a pointer or two before she catches on...? _

Her back to Scully, Starling closed her eyes and shook her head softly-- as if that would stop the words that tumbled waterfall-fast through her hearing.

"Clarice?"

_Turn around, Clarice... Look at her... So beautiful, even with that nasty bandage on her head... It does sort of lend her a wounded romantic air, though. Of course, you're a little more used to being the soldier coming home from war, aren't you? Where will she find your scars?_

She was crazy to think that she would ever get away from Lecter... even if he was hundreds of thousands of miles away. He had been silent for years now, the odd-- always untraceable-- letters had finally stopped. However, something deep in her soul warned her that if she let this happen-- and she so very desperately wanted to-- she would become interesting to him once more...

_Clarice in love... Hmmm.... interesting concept..._

"Clarice?"

_You want to touch her... I know you do._

"No..." she murmured, not realizing she had spoken aloud.

_Can't think why you haven't really before now._ The voice paused, then seemed to chuckle-- a low roar filled her ears. _Once you do, I'll know what it's like._

"No."

_Touch her, Clarice..._

"No.."

_Touch her for me..._

"No..."

_Touch her for us..._

"CLARICE!!" Scully was in front of her now, gripping her fiercely by the shoulders. Starling's eyes flew open and confronted Dana's frantic blue eyes.

"Oh Christ..." she muttered, quietly, allowing Scully to ease her down on the sofa. Ever-observant, she absently noted that the cushions were soft and welcoming, cradling her gently. Just as Scully had last night.

"Not quite," she repeated back to Clarice, smiling wryly.

A half-grin wandered fleetingly over Starling's lips. "Touché."

"Want to tell me what's up? Where were you just then?"

Those eyes, still startlingly clear and blue despite the pain she knew Scully had to be in, beckoned Clarice. They invited her into their warmth and promised her succor. Even as she drew closer to Scully she knew it was wrong, knew that each step she took down this path would only end in disaster for them both. Her past would see to that.

"I don't think I can do this, Dana," she said softly.

"What? Go to dinner? Hey, I gave up my lime Jell-o for you," Scully teased her gently. "Do you know how much I love that stuff?"

"Dana..."

"I tell you what..." Scully glanced around the apartment briefly, as if sensing the location was too intimate for Starling. "Let's get out of here and go find some dinner. I know a really quiet place down in Dupont Circle. We can talk there."

"Your head..." Starling protested. "The doctor said..."

"I am a doctor," Scully interrupted. "And believe me when I say this is nothing. I've had much worse." She shuddered slightly, despite the warm apartment air. "Trust me."

\---------------------------------

**_Fabrini's Restaurant Dupont Circle_ **

The restaurant was close enough so the two women could stroll down the bustling Saturday evening thoroughfares. Despite her worries, Starling actually loosened up enough to enjoy the crisp night air. Spring hadn't ended yet, but the sharp warmth of the night foretold of the humid summer days to come. DC in the summer had always been almost unbearable to her-- she had much preferred the piney crisp air of Quantico and its distance from things "relevant" in the world of the FBI.

Nights like this, however, held a hint of promise, of danger, and things long-desired yet always forbidden. Catching the sidelong glance of the woman walking quietly beside her, Starling had the sudden feeling that night-- of all nights-- might not be a good time to be out.

Once at the restaurant, they were seated quickly. Starling tried not to notice the pairs of appreciative eyes falling upon Scully as they wound they way to the table. Even with the discreet bandage, half-hidden by the locks of auburn hair falling across her forehead, Scully was remarkably beautiful. The golden light of the room warmed her normally porcelain features, and a fanciful imagination could have assumed the Ice Queen were finally melting. The thought gave Starling pause, and she considered the very little she knew about Dana.

Or Mrs. Spooky. Or the Ice Queen. Or even about the Navy brat and officer's daughter. What she knew about this extraordinarily gifted and thoughtful woman now seated across from her was precious little indeed. Lecter might argue that humans are but the sum of their parts.... _Billy wasn't born this way, you know..._ but something in Clarice had always rejected this philosophy. From her own life, she recognized that if she were only the 2+2 sum of her childhood tragedies, she would never be here. She would be some miner's wife with a few kids, maybe more on the way. Clarice knew there had been something deep inside, driving her to break out of the confines of her gender and her poverty. It had brought her here, to the FBI, to Lecter, and now, to Dana Scully.

The muted thwap of a copper coin hitting her folded dinner napkin snapped Starling back from the life she might have lived and back to her present time and place.

"Consider that a down payment on your thoughts." Dana smiled softly at her, and Clarice felt her own features creasing into a smile.

"Will do," she replied. "What's good here?"

"Just about everything. Especially the wine list." Dana shook her head, looking regretfully at the menu. "None for me tonight, I'm afraid."

"Good advice, Dr. Scully."

Scully shrugged. "Truthfully, I doubt a glass would kill me."

"With that head injury?" Starling's brows crawled towards her hairline.

"Tell you what... Why don't you order a half carafe and let me sip occasionally from your glass?" The candlelight glimmered in Scully's eyes, granting them a mischievous sparkle.

"You know how much I know about wine, Scully," Starling replied dryly, seeing that she wasn't going to win the battle. "Why don't you pick one out?"

"The house chardonnay is pretty good, and it goes with just about anything on the menu. They don't serve too much red meat here."

"And that means?"

Scully opened her mouth to explain, then shrugged. "Absolutely nothing in the larger scheme of things." She nodded at the waiter who had just approached. "We'd like a half-carafe of the house chardonnay."

"Very good, ladies. My name is Nick, I'll be your server tonight." The young man's greeting and cheerful air reminded Starling of Charlie back in Asheville, and how he had been convinced she and Scully were a pair. Nick was younger, obviously a college student-- George Washington if she was looking at the ring on his finger correctly-- and his taste in ties was decidedly more whimsical. A rotund cartoon character wearing a blue cap and a red coat adorned his tie, proclaiming "I'm not fat, I'm big-boned." She had no idea what it was from, but the angry look on the character's face-- the perfect embodiment of a sullen child-- made her smother a quick smile. "Would you like an appetizer this evening? We have some excellent cheeses that would go well with your wine."

Scully shot a questioning glance at Starling who shrugged and nodded. "Go for it. I haven't eaten since breakfast." She scowled, remembering her encounter with Belinda. The reporter was far too canny when it came to sniffing out secrets. The trouble is, Harris was so good at bluffing, Clarice had no idea if she was really onto her feelings for Scully, or if Belinda was just playing the percentages. She wouldn't put it past the reporter to try and goad her about Scully so that Clarice might lose her temper and accidentally let something slip about the case. _But then again, so far her sources have been better than ours..._

"Whatever you're thinking about, stop," Scully warned.

"Why's that?"

"Because it looks painful."

"Belinda Harris."

"Ouch," Scully winced, screwing up her face. "She still giving us trouble?"

"Well..." Starling drawled. "That's one way to put it."

Scully waited until Nick had placed the wine and cheeses on their table and had poured a glass for each of the women. "Explain, please," she requested, pointedly ignoring Starling's glance at her glass.

Starling took a deep breath and a sip of her own wine, hoping that it would calm the butterflies suddenly let loose in her stomach. The wine slid smoothly home, and she took a larger drink, pleasantly surprised. She had never liked wine because it always seemed unreasonably bitter. Then again, she reflected, most of her wine experiences had been with stuff that came out of bottles with screwtops. There was, it seemed, a substantial difference. Thusly fortified, she brought her eyes to rest once again on a patiently waiting Scully. This was the beginning of a conversation Starling wasn't sure she wanted to have, but one look at Dana's calmly centered gaze told her that there was no way around it.

"Belinda Harris seems to think there's something going on between us."

"Something going on between us?" Scully echoed. "Like what?"

"Like..." Starling hesitated. "Something more personal than FBI business would require."

To her surprise, a rich chuckle drifted across the table towards her. Scully rolled her eyes and shook her head softly. "Is that all? Clarice, people have been accusing me of sleeping with Mulder since the first day I walked into the X-Files. Sometimes I think they wanted to believe that so they'd understand why I stayed there. Gossip doesn't bother me."

"This kind should," Starling replied a bit more harshly than she intended.

"Why?" Scully shot back, her own eyes snapping in return. "Because we're both women?"

A sharp nod. It wasn't the whole issue, but it was a start.

"I hate to break it to you, Starling, but the FBI is not going to route out their best profiler because of the gender of her lover. Me, they might consider disposable because of all the fracas with Mulder. I'm not kidding myself about the status of my career right now. But not you. If the rumor mill is correct, they've asked you to head the NCAVC, right?"

"They hounded Lucy Farinelli out. And she created CAIN for Christ's sake. One more profiler-- or forensic pathologist isn't going to make a whole lot of difference."

Scully paused to take a sip of her own wine-- a tiny one, Starling's critical eye noted-- and considered this. "I had Lucy in one of my classes a couple of years ago, you know."

"She told me."

"And if I remember, the issue the Bureau had with Lucy's lover wasn't her gender, but the fact that she was a sociopath."

"Psychopath," Starling corrected absently.

"Beg pardon?"

"Technically Carrie Grethen was a psychopath. There was a degree of lust and pleasure in her crimes that separates your average sociopath from the psychopaths."

"Anyway..." Scully continued with a wave of her glass. "I think that had a little more influence on the Bureau than her gender."

"You might be surprised."

Scully considered that information before her next reply. "They never did anything about you and Ardelia Mapp."

Starling sucked in a hard breath, feeling the air settle thickly in her lungs and pressing into her gut. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Just because I ignore gossip doesn't mean I don't hear it. My point is, Clarice, nobody cares."

"They'd care if it got splashed all over the cover of one of Belinda Harris's true crime exposés."

That shut Scully up. She leaned back in her chair, absently running a finger around the rim of her wine glass. "What happened this morning?"

"Let's just say Ms. Harris was interested in a little quid pro quo," she intoned the last words mockingly. She poured another glass of wine and motioned an eager Nick over to the table. "Better bring a whole one of these things." Then she glanced at Scully as Nick scurried away. "It's for me, Scully. I have a feeling I'm gonna need it."

Scully snickered softly and regarded Starling across the table. Clarice felt the weight of those blue eyes-- warmed now by the candlelight-- pressing against her skin as intimate as a touch. Perhaps more so, for Scully's eyes saw far more than her fingers could have felt touching the same places. Starling had met so many gazes in her time with the Bureau, staring unflinchingly in the face of everything from madness and rage to pure greed and stupidity. No one-- not even Lecter-- had unnerved her the way this woman did now. "What was her offer?"

"Well, I mean, she didn't say she was going to name her next book _Serial Killers and the Lesbian Lovers Who Hunt Them_ , but it was kinda hard to miss the implication."

"That's a big assumption on her part." She blinked. "Hell, Starling, that's a big assumption on your part."

Nonplused by Scully's comment, Starling frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We've only known each other three days, and Harris has already concluded that we're lovers. You're acting as though it's _fait_ _accompli_. Is that why you came up here, Starling? Sex?"

Everything seemed to suddenly tilt for Starling, as her mental world shifted rapidly beneath her. "No," she blurted, unable to think of anything more coherent to say. Sex was an old, familiar ache, easily assuaged by the knowing touch of her own fingers. No, sex wasn't what she wanted from Dana Scully.

It was so much more.

"No," she repeated.

Unhesitatingly, Scully replied. "But that's all I'm hearing from you. What Belinda Harris thinks, what the Bureau might think, what everyone might think..."

"But..."

"If we were sleeping together. Or, as Belinda would probably say herself-- if we were fucking."

_"I can smell your cunt..."_

Dana's words shocked her in a way that Miggs's hissing statement never had. Scully's voice was raw and mocking, chewing the small space between them. The redhead sighed heavily, her shoulders unclenching, and she leaned back in her chair. When her eyes returned to Starling's, they were sorrowful. "If you want someone to fuck, Clarice, go borrow some of Mulder's porno tapes and one of his 1-900 numbers. Share that with Belinda Harris and the Bureau. I'm not interested."

Starling wasn't a fool, she didn't entertain the notion for one second that Scully might be bluffing.

_Put up or shut up time, eh Clarice?_

The roaring in her ears drowned out Lecter's silky purr, and her vision narrowed to encompass only the crystal gaze of the woman across from her. She really only had two choices and one of them was to get up and walk away from the table.

So really, she only had one option.

"I'm not interested in fucking you, Dana."

Scully didn't move, didn't speak, didn't change her expression. Then slowly... ever so slowly to Starling's clenching heart... she began to smile. "Smooth line, Clarice. Does it work on all the girls?"

Nick propitiously chose that moment to finally return with the chardonnay and take their dinner orders. Both women breathed a quiet sigh of relief and ordered the special, not even having looked at the menu.

Emboldened by another glass of wine and their shared laughter, Starling confessed, "I told Lucy I thought I was falling for you."

A brow arched elegantly in exasperation. "Clarice, were you going to discuss your feelings about me with everyone but me?"

Starling frowned. "What?"

"Lucy, Belinda Harris. You even told Mulder that you'd take care of me. I haven't seen him look that panicked in years."

"His expression didn't change."

"That was his panicked expression." Scully chuckled lightly. "But seriously, Clarice..." she trailed away, expecting Starling to fill in the silence.

_Now the hard part...._

"Can I ask you a question?" she began.

"Sure."

"Why aren't you afraid?"

"Of what? This?"

Starling nodded.

An easy smile crested over Dana's face. "Because you're scared enough for both of us, Starling. I think I realized that if I let myself be as scared as I ought to be, this relationship would never get off the ground. Someone had to let go first."

"I wouldn't have pegged you as a _carpe diem_ kind of woman, Scully."

Dana smiled ruefully. "I suppose not. And I suppose you'd be right." She shook her head. "Something happened to me a couple of years ago--" Seeing the quickening interest in Starling's eyes, she waved it off. "I don't want to go into it right now. But... I made myself a promise."

"Which was?"

"Not to let something I really wanted ever get away again."

Starling's breath caught as Dana's eyes linked with hers would not let go. "I've let a part of myself sleepwalk through most of my life. I've tried to be as many perfect things as I could. Mostly because I was afraid that if I let myself really want something... it wouldn't be good enough."

"For whom?"

Scully shrugged. "For everyone else. For all those people who would be aghast to find out if we were... fucking."

"And now?"

The light in Dana's eyes shimmered. "Now that part of me is waking up, and it doesn't give a good goddamn what everyone else thinks. My father is dead, my career's in the toilet-- probably permanently-- and my best friend has become someone I can't reach anymore. Tell me, Clarice, what else could I lose? And what is that measured against what I could gain?" Her fingers slipped quietly across the table and twined around Starling's.

The warmth swept immediately through Clarice's body, teasing her that perhaps she had been too emphatic in saying she had no interest in Scully's body. That was nothing, however, compared to the searing happiness that threaded its way through the cracks in the blackened armor guarding Starling's soul. It crowded out the silence that Lecter had brought and bubbled up through her throat in a strangled laugh. Wordlessly, she gripped the hand in hers and heard her soul's quiet thanks.

For now, fear was displaced, barred from its haunt of these last years. It hovered jealously in the shadows, waiting, like Lecter, for its time to rise again.

* * *

During their dinner, a bank of thunderclouds had rolled across the DC sky, filling the cityscape with menacing cadet blue shrouds. Now, as the women departed the restaurant, lazy raindrops speckled their blazers, hinting at the storm yet to come. Automatically Scully flipped the collar up on her blazer, protecting the ticklish spot on the nape of her neck from trickling waters. Starling noticed this slight movement, and her eyes flicked to the yellow cabs passing by.

"You want me to grab one?" she gestured with her head, indicating an idling taxi at the red-light.

Scully shook her head briefly. "No, thanks. Let's walk." She smiled at Clarice's uncertainty, thinking it charming in the other woman. Starling seemed oddly young at this moment; perhaps it was the lack of subterfuge in her blue eyes. Dana's declaration had obviously taken her by surprise, and she wasn't sure how to handle it. Scully, on the other hand, had only felt the increasing certainty of what she was doing as the evening progressed. True, she realized, it might only last for the night and no more, but right now at this single instant in time, she knew exactly what she wanted.

She wasn't going to lie to herself any longer.

"Are you sure?" Starling asked, seeming to echo the refrain of her thoughts.

Scully threw her head back and laughed, a rich deep timbre that Starling had never heard. The laugh assured them both that Dana had never been more certain of anything in her life.

"I mean..." Starling stammered. "Your head..."

Scully turned to face Clarice, oblivious to the flowing traffic around them. A golden cocoon wove itself around Scully, freeing her from the darkness that somberly cloaked her everyday life. She wanted to reach out, envelop Starling in the shimmer of her truth. "Clarice, I've been shot, beaten senseless, left for dead, and kidnapped-- all in the last five years. A seventeen-year old boy and his mother's Volvo are not going to keep me from the one thing I've wanted all my life."

In spite of herself, Starling smiled. "And what's that?"

Scully cocked her head, returning Clarice's smile, feeling it stretch from her eyes to somewhere unidentifiably south. "To walk in the rain. Now. With you." She held out her hand. "Are you brave enough to try that, Clarice Starling?"

Starling hesitated, poised like the last of an endangered species about to flee for its life.

"Come on, Starling," Scully urged, her voice soothing, gentle, deeper than anything she'd ever known. "I dare you."

Five fingers... and a moment later, Starling's hand was clasped in her own. Silken and strong. Startlingly cool. Scully wanted to gasp at the unexpectedly visceral desire to hold that hand to her breast. Explore the network of veins and muscles under skin. Examine the whorls of Starling's fingerprints. Determine what made this woman so singular.

She had never liked holding hands with her lovers. Boyfriends seemed to take it as some sort of possession, trolling through shopping malls and restaurants as if they were afraid she would flee at the first chance. To her, their hands had lacked delicacy, grace. The ability to touch without grasping. To caress without pawing.

For a small woman, Starling's fingers were long and supple, the cuticle of each nail neatly trimmed and unpolished. Functional hands, she realized, as the pad of her thumb absently traced the subtly raised skin of a scar across the back of Clarice's hand. Hands that were used to taking control.

She wanted to tell Starling so many things, before this reckless bravado passed and she was reduced to the daily banality of common sense. A true scientist, her skepticism would not be denied. Suddenly, walking down this street with Clarice Starling's hand tucked in hers, she knew with an uncanny sense what it was like to be Mulder. To be possessed of a certainty beyond all sanity. To know without proof. To trust without reason.

_Not I **want** to believe.... but I **have** to believe... _

\---------------------------------

Pulling Clarice into the apartment with her, Scully ignored the steadily blinking light of her answering machine.

_Scully, what are you doing?_ it seemed to reproach her with Mulder's voice. Bewildered. Lost. Not a little angry. She knew that damage repair would come tomorrow, along with the million aches and pains that her body would at last recognize. But for now, she was more than content to surrender to the curiously lightheaded sensation that was not borne of any painkiller or half a glass of wine.

Moonlight filtered through the half-slitted blinds, and the occasional wet whooshing sound of car tires on pavement punctuated the silence. Scully had cracked a window before they left; now the smell of trimmed grass and hedges mingling gently with the clean scent of the storm floated in the air around them.

Starling's eyes glimmered palely in the dimness, the only points of light in a darkened silhouette.

Tentatively, she brushed trembling fingers over the shape of Starling's face, memorizing like a blind woman the texture and silken smoothness she found there. The hissed intake of Clarice's breath was the only break in the silence.

Where had all her words gone? The formidable evidence of Scully's intellect, she used them to define, shape, give life to everything she had encountered.

There were no words now.

Only the outline of Clarice's face beneath her fingers, and her mouth... that severe, serious mouth, opening to hers now. She tasted the wine of Starling's mouth, sweeter than any Riesling ever bottled. A lethal intoxicant, it wound its way through her fragile system-- wreaking uncaring havoc with her heart, her lungs and threatening to boil the blood as it flowed through her veins.

No words indeed for a desire that threatened to immolate them where they stood.

Through her blood's roaring, she could hear the faint, tinny ringing of the phone. How long she didn't know, but she heard her answering machine click on, her own mechanical voice warning others of her absence. Her unavailability.

As she suspected, the voice of reproach was Mulder's, surprisingly sober. "Scully, it's me. Where the hell are you? I'm getting worried... I'm going to come over...."

Groaning, she tore herself away from the flame and lunged for the phone. "Mulder, it's me. I'm here. I'm fine."

Silence. "What the hell's going on?"

"Clar-- Starling and I went out to dinner. The doctor said I couldn't take my pain pills on an empty stomach."

"I've been calling for hours. I thought maybe your head..." The worry evident in his voice.

"I'm good, Mulder. I'm okay." She smiled into the phone, touched by the connection that remained between them. Mulder was slowly traveling a road to hell, but even that couldn't completely destroy their bond. She strengthened her resolve not to let him slip away. "Starling and I just got to talking."

"About the case?"

Her eyes flickered up and met the steady ones of the woman standing opposite her. Starling hadn't moved except to turn her head and watch Scully. Her arms hung limply at her sides as if they were waiting for something to fill them.

Scully.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice prompted her.

"Yeah, about the case."

"You guys got anything?" The worry in his voice had eased, as if things were settling down, returning to normal. Scully's voice on the phone and all was right with the world.

"Not really." She watched Starling move now; a supple walk, different from the brisk, professional pace she had seen in Asheville. Clarice felt around and flipped on a dim lamp in the far corner of the room, by the window. It illuminated the sharp edges of her face, blurred the brightness of her eyes. Scully swallowed hard as Clarice kicked her shoes off, took the off-the-rack blazer from her shoulders and laid it on the back of the couch. Starling's shoulders were narrow, and Scully wondered anew at the weight they had borne over the last years. They reminded her of the tremulous delicacy of bird's wings.

Then again, birds had the power of flight when humans were stranded on the mundane earth.

"I have to go, Mulder," she said hoarsely. "I'll call you later in the week, okay? We'll have dinner."

A peace offering to atone for her abandonment now.

He seemed to take it well, for he wished her goodnight without argument and told her to call him if she needed anything. It reminded her of the old days-- unable to sleep, she would call him; and he would give her a play-by-play of some nature documentary until she fell asleep. That ease had been long gone from their relationship, and she didn't want to take the time to mourn it just now.

She returned the receiver to its cradle and turned the sound off on her answering machine. Both she and Starling wore pagers, so if anything broke, they were still reachable. She crossed the few steps separating them.

Clarice smiled easily. "You are in no shape to do anything about that look in your eye, Dana."

Her face burned scarlet; she hadn't been aware the desire was written so plainly across her face. "What do you mean?" she asked unnecessarily.

"I mean your body may not realize it right now, but it's been through a lot today. You're going to hurt like hell in the morning."

"I already do," she admitted ruefully, recognizing the aching pain in her shoulder and legs. It was nothing, however, compared to the one in her soul clamoring for the perfect fit of Starling's arms around her and the hesitant touch of their lips.

Clarice reached out to her, clasped their hands and drew Scully near. "If it's real-- it will last," she whispered into Dana's hair as if reading the frantic, unspoken fear in Scully's desire.

"What if it's not?" Scully searched Starling's eyes for answers she didn't particularly want to know.

"Then we won't have done anything irreparable." She laced her fingers through the thick red hair and touched her forehead to Dana's. Scully sighed into the touch, her body relaxing against Starling's.

There was strength in the arms that surrounded her, despite their slenderness. A resolve in the shoulders and spine that Scully suspected was unbreachable. She wanted so much to seek out and brush her hands over that sacred space in Clarice Starling's soul. Knowing she would find scars there, but unable to imagine their depth.

Hannibal Lecter had been there before her and had raped Clarice's psyche of any remaining innocence. Starling's road would have been a hard path already-- because of her past and her dogged earnestness-- but Lecter had added his own sickening twist. He had taught her about monsters-- worse yet, he had placed her on an intimate footing with her own demons. Scully suspected they visited Starling in a way that most people were spared, and her heart ached for the pain she saw etched deep into the furrow between Starling's eyes.

Devoutly, she pressed her lips to that tiny place-- felt Clarice shiver in response, the hands tighten in her hair. "Come to bed," Scully murmured, ignoring the silent, internal gasp reverberating in her ears. Little Dana Scully didn't say things like that. Never had and-- until she heard those words just tumbling out of her mouth-- never would have. Then again from the very start, these feelings for Starling had been about breaking all the rules she had known.

"Dana..." A warning plea.

"To sleep," she soothed, placing another quiet kiss on Starling's forehead. "I want to hold you." She lifted Clarice's eyes to meet her own, noted the blue in Starling's eyes was muddied with something....

Desire?

It was different from the glazed look of her male lovers when she had taken them to her bed. Their need was frantic, even when they were trying to be leisurely-- like the racing of an internal clock. At times more frenzied than others, but always pressing.

No, the look in Clarice's eyes spoke of something entirely different. What it was, she could not fathom, but her body trembled with the need to discover.

"Come on." She tugged gently at Starling's hand, expecting the other woman to balk again. But Clarice only searched her eyes for a moment longer, then-- almost imperceptibly-- nodded once.

\---------------------------------

Scully opened the window slightly, letting the lightning-dappled night into the room. She eschewed the harshness of the bedside lamp and the romance of a candle in favor of this uncertain illumination. It somehow seemed fitting.

Starling seemed at ease now, as if some internal hurdle had been crossed. She waited patiently while Scully fussed with the blinds, accepted the pair of silken pajamas Dana handed her without comment. They changed with their backs to each other, curiously shy now... both knowing that any further delay was only academic-- to give their troubled minds time to assimilate what their bodies had known from the very start.

They were a perfect fit.

Scully bit back a moan as Clarice slipped between the sheets and into her waiting arms. She was slightly smaller than the other woman-- Starling's form was leaner, more angular-- but still, Dana could hold her without awkwardness. The intimacy was almost unbearable, and Scully thought about the few people she had cradled to her breast. Only with Mulder had she felt this kind of connection-- and theirs was a spiritual bond, not a sexual one. She could no more imagine making love to him than to her own brothers. But this...

"You okay?" The words whispered into her neck, and she trembled at the light touch of Starling's breath against her skin.

"What makes you ask?" she replied, trying to keep the shimmer from her voice.

"Because it feels like your heart's about to beat its way out of your chest."

A strangled laugh died in Scully's throat as she considered the absurdity of her situation. She could clinically diagnose the responses of her body, knew without a doubt that she had never been more aroused in her life. Just from the simple act of cradling this woman in her arms.

Maybe she was crazy.

Or maybe she was just falling in love.

She pressed a gentle kiss against Clarice's head.

"You scared?" Starling murmured.

"Uh-huh," she admitted on an unsteady breath.

Starling cocked her head and leaned slightly away from Dana to get a better look. "I thought you weren't a stranger to being kissed."

Dana chuckled. "Kissed is about all. I..." she hesitated. "I wouldn't know how to go about doing much else."

Expecting disappointment or irritation reflected in Starling's face, Scully was surprised to see a knowing, sexy smirk there. "Well, you sure got that part down right."

Their lips met again, as if in affirmation. Once more Scully felt a heretofore somnolent flame begin to flicker. She moaned as Starling's mouth opened to hers, felt the gentle brush of Clarice's tongue against her own. It was as if she were sinking and flying all at once, Starling's strong arms anchoring her to the bed while her own dizzy desire simply continued to spiral up and up...

She groaned, "Clarice..." her mouth aching as Starling slipped away.

"You need to sleep," Clarice admonished, her own desire pulsing through her eyes. Reaching out to Scully, beckoning.

"I need you..." The words escaped her lips stealthily, hovering on the air between them.

Starling hesitated only a moment. "You have me, Dana." She traced a gentling path along the curve of Scully's jaw. "It's not a dream. When you wake up in the morning, I'll be here."

"But..."

"Shh..." Her fingers rested lightly over Dana's mouth. "I promise."

Looking into Clarice Starling's eyes, Dana saw something more than truth... she saw tomorrow. And the next day.

And had she been a believer in precognition, she would have seen eternity.


	4. Part IV - Satiety

_The forest was bathed in brightness, flooding across her body and filling her eyes. Trees dappled the light that warmed her skin, and she could see its movement in the gently swaying leaves. Long grass rustled softly against her bare legs, and the breeze riffled her hair lightly. Clarice had never seen anything like it, yet this place was instantly familiar. She looked around again, her dream eyes widening in surprise. This was the forest of her nightmares... the dark path that she fled down nightly. The faces were gone-- their silenced, butchered countenances vanished, at least for now. She smiled in the quiet splendor._

_This is what the sun looked liked, dancing across her soul..._

The motion of cool silk sliding across her skin was an unfamiliar one to Clarice Starling. Yet, this morning she was awash in the sensation as her hands ran over the smooth curves of Dana's back and tentatively brushed over the other woman's fiery hair. They had found each other's body in the night and wrapped themselves tightly against one another, as if to ward off some unspeakable demon.

Starling didn't know what might haunt Scully's nightscape, but she knew the closeness had lulled her own furies into an odd silence.

She had seen the other side.

"Hi there." Conscious now of somber blue eyes blinking up at her.

"Hey." She smiled in pure reflex, at the beautiful sight of Dana Scully in the morning. "How you feeling?"

Scully squinched her eyes together, moved slightly as if to stretch, then immediately recoiled. "Like a small bus hit me."

"Or a small Volvo, anyway, huh?"

"Har har... Comfortable enough to tease me now, are you?"

"Sorry," but Clarice continued to smile. In fact, she realized, she could no more wipe this stupid grin off her face than she could stop breathing. Holding Dana in the intimate enclosure of her arms was, she concluded, unmistakably right. Perhaps the most right thing she had ever done. "You want me to let you go back to sleep?"

Scully yawned and regretfully shook her head. "No, I think I need to move around. Try and work some of this stiffness out." She glanced down the length of their entwined bodies. "Although I'm really hating that right now." She tilted her head up and silently captured Starling's lips with her own. The kiss was sweet and chaste, an awakening of their senses to match the one in their souls. The morning proved the night before had, indeed, not been a dream. Scully nuzzled the smooth hollow between Clarice's shoulder and neck, instinctively kissing the warm skin.

Starling shuddered pleasantly in response. "You can't be feeling too bad, if you're doing that."

A throaty chuckle rumbled from the small redhead, who kissed Clarice's pulse point again before lifting her head to consider her bedmate. A look of slightly dazed wonderment crossed her eyes. "I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I've never been much of a cuddler," she confessed.

"Could have fooled me," Starling teased gently, remembering how easily they had touched these last few days. To her surprise, Scully blushed and buried her head in the crook of Starling's shoulder again. The movement was charmingly innocent, and Clarice had a glimpse of what kind of girl Dana might have been. Before her father's disapproval, the X-Files, and Mulder had scarred her soul with their brands. Starling pressed a quiet kiss into the silk of Dana's hair, inhaling the warm scent of sleep and the woman in her arms. "I like it," she admitted. "And I'm definitely not a cuddler."

"Could have fooled me," Scully echoed from the depths of her burrowing.

Loathe to leave their comfortable embrace, but knowing it was inevitable, Starling gently prodded the other woman. "How about a shower?"

Scully was completely still, then her head jerked abruptly, and Clarice could see the blush flooding her pale features once more. "Uh..." she stammered. "You uh... you mean... together?"

Starling's eyes flew open wide, the last traces of sleep shocked from her system. Mentally she slapped herself upside the head, then laughed at the comical expression on Scully's face. "Umm... no... I thought a shower would help work out some of your stiffness." Seeing the relief creeping over Scully's features, she couldn't resist adding, "Unless you want someone to wash your back."

Scully's jaw dropped another fraction before she realized she was being teased again, and she shook her head in amused bewilderment. "This is going to take some getting used to, isn't it?"

"For which one of us?"

Scully looked suddenly serious and gestured at their embrace. "Both, I suspect. None of this comes easy for either one of us, does it?"

Starling considered the question, the past few days, and the undeniable response that Scully had evoked from both her body and her heart. "It's coming a lot easier than I had ever expected, Dana. Honestly, I think that's the scariest part."

Scully's brows arched quizzically; and she gingerly shifted her position on the bed, reluctantly disentangling herself and sitting up. "What do you mean?"

As she followed Dana's example and sat up in the bed beside her, a new shyness flooded Starling's body. Everything they had said and done to this point had taken place at night, when the permissive light of the moon gave its blessings to even the unlikeliest romantic entanglements. The wan sunlight struggling through the clouds this morning changed all that. She had lied last night when she said they hadn't done anything irrevocable. The line had already been crossed, at least in Starling's heart. Maybe even in her soul.

"Clarice?" Dana's voice sliced through the thick morass of her thoughts, filled with concerned.

Her eyes focused once more on the exquisite woman beside her, and Clarice's lungs constricted violently with the breathtaking impact of Scully's beauty. Starling's life had been filled with violence and the dark shadows that bred it. She had fled beauty-- and normalcy-- because her eyes could not stand watching others become filled with revulsion at her life. Yet, right now, Dana's porcelain features were marred by neither blood nor horror at the things she knew Clarice was. This fearless, unhesitating woman had sought to reach through the darkness to the battered and bruised remains of Clarice's soul.

Starling could no longer refuse what Dana Scully was offering.

Sanctuary.

Peace.

Love.

Silently, Starling saw her own hand reach out to Dana as if in a dream. She caressed the smooth line of Scully's jaw, her fingers dancing lightly over the skin and coming to rest on Dana's lips. Across from her, blue eyes widened in surprise; and Scully's hand came up to tangle its fingers in Clarice's. Gentle kisses fell lightly across Starling's sensitive palm, and she cupped Dana's cheek, lost in the warmth of this woman's skin. "I think..." she cleared her throat, astonished at how weak her voice was in the face of such splendor. "I think, I've got something that might work out the stiffness in your back and shoulders."

A pale brow arched slightly. "What's that?"

Dropping her hands to Scully's shoulders, she placed gentle pressure there. "Lie down."

Scully began to recline, but caught herself on her arms at the last minute. Starling's heart had crawled between her ears and was hammering there so loudly, she almost didn't hear Scully's breathless command. "Wait..."

"What's wrong?" she asked quietly, fear leaping to her throat.

"Nothing," Dana assured her quickly. "I just... uh..." Now she blushed. "I want to brush my teeth," she confessed.

Starling's brows knit together, then one lifted wryly. "No teeth involved here. I just thought a back rub might help."

"I figured," Scully replied dryly, a glimmer in her eye alerting Starling that her fib had been detected. "But uh... why don't you go make us some coffee or some juice or something."

"Do you really want coffee?" Clarice was honestly perplexed.

Scully sighed in amused exasperation, and then smacked Clarice in the face with a pillow. "No, but I don't want you in _here_ , listening to me in _there_." She pointed to the bathroom.

Starling caught the pillow-- and the clue-- lobbed at her with little grace. "Oh. _Oh_..."

"Yeah, Starling. Oh." Scully shook her head. "Now out."

\---------------------------------

Scully watched Clarice scramble off the bed as ordered, stopping only to retrieve her own toiletry bag as she left. Starling's charming befuddlement had eased her own awkwardness about the intimacy lurking just around the corner. Her heart had threatened to pound out of her chest when Clarice touched her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. She heard the thick-throated desire in Starling's voice, felt the answering need in the heated roil of her stomach. The reckless bravado that had carried her thus far was rapidly deserting her; and, as she contemplated her reddened face in the bathroom mirror, she couldn't help but ask herself one simple question.

"Am I out of my mind?"

In her three plus decades of life on this planet she had been many things to many people. At various times in her life, she had bent her formidable talents to being William and Maggie Scully's dutiful daughter, an overachieving student and scholar, and a loyal and devoted soldier to the seemingly pointless cause of the X-Files. Along the way, she had staged small, ultimately inconsequential, rebellions as a way to keep herself from becoming lost in the myriad roles she had to play. Randy kisses stolen from smoky stranger's lips in college. A renegade love of good Scotch. A fondness for silk pajamas and elegant underwear. All were these things that could be easily concealed or explained away in the face of who she was supposed to be at any given moment.

What could Clarice Starling possibly want her to be?

Scully ran cold water through her fingers, cupping them together and then running their lengths over her flaming skin. Facing her own visage once more, Scully confronted the staggeringly simple answer.

Starling didn't want anything _from_ her. She simply wanted her.

And that was the most frightening thought of all.

Starling was the most intelligent, complex, and tortured soul that she had ever met. That was saying something coming from the woman who considered Fox Mulder her best friend. During the few short days they had known each other, she had been constantly challenged by this extraordinary woman-- forced to think, act, and feel at her own highest capacity. It was the most exhilarating feeling of Scully's life.

Running still-damp fingers through her hair to tame the most recalcitrant strands back into place, Scully shook her head. No, she concluded with a mocking grin, she wasn't out of her mind. In fact, falling in love with Clarice Starling might just have been the sanest thing she'd done in a long, long time.

\---------------------------------

Starling was standing uncertainly in the bedroom doorway, holding a tray with two black mugs, two glasses of orange juice and a plate of toast. "Is there somewhere I can put this?" she asked.

Scully's brows knit together in confusion. "Sure. Let me clear off the night stand." Hastily she moved the stacks of medical journals and books that cluttered the table beside her side of the bed. She pushed the alarm clock and the slender lamp flush against the wall. "Here." Starling settled the tray in position, rescuing one mug of coffee and handing it to the red-head. "Hungry all of a sudden?"

Starling shrugged, a small smile playing on her lips. "I figured if we were going to pretend to have coffee, we might as well pretend to have juice and toast too."

"Good idea." The mug was warm from the hot liquid inside, sending a completely unnecessary heat pulsing thought the palms of Scully's hands. She returned it untouched to the tray. "Come to think of it, I'm not really thirsty."

Starling seemed to study her for a moment, her blue eyes shockingly vivid against her pale skin, taking in Scully's whole being. Nothing about Dana escaped her glance-- not the mauve pajamas covering her shoulders, not her suddenly shallow breathing, and certainly not the slight tremble in her fingers as she set the mug down.

"Are you scared?" Starling asked softly, taking a hesitant step closer.

Scully nodded mutely, dropping her eyes to the tray and seeking refuge in the quiet swirls in the dark liquid.

"Dana..." A hand brushed over her hair. "Nothing has to happen..." Her voice trailed away as Scully brought her eyes once more to focus on the brilliant blue of Clarice's eyes.

"The idea of you touching me isn't what scares me," she murmured, steeling herself for her final confession. "It's how much I want you to that terrifies me."

She could see the astonishment flicker over Starling's face, heard the slight hitch in her breathing. Time seemed to freeze in that instant, before she was in Clarice's arms, feeling silk sliding against silk and reveling in the deceptive strength of the other woman's arms. "You are... incredible..." Clarice whispered in her ear before pulling away.

Scully's body groaned at the loss, and her fingers tangled in Starling's. "No..." she objected in a lazy mutter, not realizing she spoke aloud.

A sensuous smile curved across Starling's face. "I'm not going far. I promise." She nodded at the bed. "I promised you a back rub."

Scully started to protest that a back rub wasn't what she had in mind, but something about the knowing light glimmering in Clarice's eyes told her not to argue. "All right," she acquiesced. She began to slowly undo the buttons of her pajama shirt, keeping her fingers steady by the sheer force of her will alone. She swore she could feel each thread of the fabric as it slipped down her hypersensitive skin, and the slight rustle of the shirt dropping to the sheets echoed in her ears.

"Dana..." Her name a reverent breath on Starling's lips.

Naked now from the waist up, a wave of strength washed through Scully's veins; her heart thundered powerfully in her chest. She saw herself mirrored in Clarice's eyes-- and she was proud of the straight line of her shoulders, the defined muscles in her arms, the full curve of her breasts. In Starling's eyes, she was the most beautiful woman who ever existed.

At that moment in time, Dana believed it with every fiber of her being.

"Lie down," Starling said hoarsely.

She obeyed, though why she wasn't sure. All her body seemed to want to do was grind itself into the slim, angular woman opposite her. Slowly, she turned away from Starling and lowered herself to the cool sheets, sighing as the cotton came into contact with her flaming skin. She suppressed a moan that became a purr.

Scully closed her eyes at the onslaught of sensation. Vision would be too much at this point. Instead, she concentrated on touch, sound and smell. Faint remnants of her shampoo and perfume wafted from the sheets, along with... something else... that smelled of heat and smoke, musk and need. She buried her nose in the pillow, willing herself to focus on the 200-thread count Martha Stewart specials, but when she felt Starling's slender weight come to rest on either side of her back, she couldn't stop the gasp that escaped her lips.

"You okay?" Starling asked, quite unnecessarily.

"Oh yeah," Dana breathed.

"I'm not too heavy?"

"Oh god, no."

Clarice chuckled at Scully's instantaneous reply and continued her ministrations. Starling's hands were at once cool and warm against Scully's skin. It was a fact that Dana attributed to conflicting electrical impulses within her own system, until her poor neurons became so overloaded that she was forced to give up trying to keep track of her body's responses and just go with it. "That feels so good," she rasped, enjoying the novel sensation of a woman's hands caressing the hidden pains she found.

Scully had encountered more than one professional masseur in her time, but nothing in her experience could compare to Clarice's hands seeking out the deep, aching tissue in her muscles and working out the soreness there. Starling's fingers seemed to know unerringly where Scully was both sore and sensitive; and she expertly stroked the tension out of one area and into the other.

Starling paused, then dropped her hands to Scully's sides, tentative fingers curling into the waistband of Dana's pajamas. It took Scully a moment to recognize the question, but only an instant to answer it with a slight arch of her hips. The loose garment fell quickly away, and cool air caressed her newly-exposed skin.

There was silence, and then Starling stretched out along the length of Scully's back. The touch of Clarice's bare skin was almost too much for Dana, and she whimpered lightly at the contact. "You are absolutely beautiful, Dana. Did you know that?" Starling chuckled softly, almost as if she were talking to herself. Her voice was low and ardent in Scully's ear, telling her secrets that only lovers could share. "People must tell you that every day."

"Not anyone who... matters."

The gentle stroking of her arms stopped; Scully became conscious of it only after the motion had ceased. "Do... I... matter?"

Scully twisted her head around to capture Starling's eyes in her own. "You do, Clarice. More than I ever thought possible."

They kissed, Scully's mouth surrendering to the gentle invasion... with her touch wanting to free Starling from her silent pain, and by doing so release the ache of her own soul. She had lost so much these last years-- her freedom, her faith, her child and very nearly her life. Pain layered upon pain until she no longer recognized the weariness in her shoulders or the indefatigable strength it took to just bear up under the burden. Starling's touch eased more than just the simple bruises-- her fingers worked a soothing salve into a battered and fragile heart.

But their touch was not just about healing, it was also about a passion that crested through her body. "I want to see you," she muttered, arching her back against Starling's torso. "Please...."

Clarice was suddenly kneeling over her, looking down with a heavy-lidden gaze as Dana's eyes traveled up the length of her bared skin.

A lean waist emerged from black pajama bottoms, pale skin covering muscles resting just under the surface. Clarice's breasts were high and firm, and Scully knew without a doubt their precious weight would cup perfectly in her palms. Trembling hands traced the path her eyes forged, watching Starling's stomach clench reflexively at the touch. "Ticklish," she murmured. Her fingers continued their exploration, testing the muscles in Starling's arms, admiring the clean angles of the woman above her. Reaching the curve of Clarice's breasts, she paused only a moment before following the gentle shape and circling the tips until they hardened in aroused awareness.

Starling's eyes closed at the touch, her head dropping forward. "Dana..."

As she touched Clarice, her own breasts ached in erotic sympathy; and the embers coiling in her belly these last few days burst, finally, into flame. She sat up, wrapping her arms around the other woman, her mouth finding Starling's and binding them together.

Clarice's hips rocked against hers, and wordlessly Dana allowed herself to be lowered to the sheets. Starling's mouth left hers, her lips sparking tiny flames in Dana's skin as they worked their way over her neck and across her shoulders. Clarice found the tiny, sensitive hollow of Scully's throat where her collarbones met. Her tongue outlined the delicate bones beneath the surface and suckled gently at the thundering pulse point she found there.

"Are you okay?"

The overwhelming sensations stopped, and Dana looked down to see Starling's concerned gaze fixed on her. Scully's fingers wove themselves into Clarice's thick, dark hair. "God, yes," she whispered, her hands urgently guiding Starling back to her task.

A throaty chuckle reached Dana's ears, and then all conscious thought stopped as Clarice's mouth found Dana's breasts. Her body sang in relief; and her hips surged forward, seeking purchase against the slick fabric of Starling's pajamas. "Off," she growled, hands ferociously pushing at the stubbon material. With a heretofore hidden dexterity, she managed to remove the offending garment without breaking the delicious contact of Starling's mouth.

Clarice's thigh slipped between Dana's legs, pressing against the hot wetness hidden there. Both women groaning softly at the contact, their bodies moved effortlessly into one another... as though two wandering souls had finally found their home.

Starling's hands were covering hers now, moving them from where they had come to rest on Clarice's hips and pressing them into the bed. "Slow down, Dana," she gasped.

"Wha..." Scully opened eyes she didn't know had been closed and focused on the pulsing blue of her lover's irises. "What's wrong?"

"Not a goddamned thing," Clarice assured her, laughing softly. Her eyes swept the length of their intertwined bodies. "I just don't want... this to be over too soon."

Scully freed her hands from Starling's and cradled the other woman's face. "This will never be over," she whispered.

Dana could see the flame blazing high now in Starling's eyes as their lips met again. Her hips picked up the gentle rhythm they had fallen into, hoping to coax her lover back. Clarice refused the enticing sway, instead working down the length of Scully's body, tasting and teasing the red-head while she explored the landscape of Dana's skin.

Swirls of sensation transmuted into color danced before Scully's closed eyes. Starling seemed determined not to let a centimeter of her flesh go unadored, and each touch fed the conflagration that had become Dana's desire. Arousal had never before blossomed into need with Scully-- she had always controlled her passion as she had controlled everything in her life, lest it be too unseemly for those around her.

She was helpless now, surrendering everything she hadn't ever known she could be before this complex and enigmatic woman.

"Clarice..." she murmured.

"I'm here, Dana." Starling's whispered reply reassured Scully in some obscurely fundamental way; and one of Clarice's hands found hers, gripping it tightly.

She opened her eyes to see Starling nestled comfortably between her legs, almost as if she belonged there. Blue met blue in unspoken question and reply before Clarice dipped her head to the center of the flame.

"Ohgodohgodohgodohgod..." Scully's head slammed back down to the mattress, and her hips bucked into Starling of their own accord. Clarice's mouth seemed to possess her, taking custody of all Dana's cravings, feeding the flames, and taming them to her will. She made extravagant promises with her mouth, and answered them with her tongue. Stripped down to nothing but flesh and bone, sinew and nerves-- Dana Scully was revealed by her lover's touch.

And saved.

* * *

The insistently annoying chirp of the telephone dragged Scully back from the depths of the most intense erotic dream she had ever had. She opened her eyes to a tangle of limbs, bared skin, and rumpled sheets... and realized what had happened between Starling and her this morning had been no dream.

Unbidden, a lazy smirk crept around the edges of her lips as she uncoiled one arm from its resting place on Starling's back and reached upwards for the phone.

"Scully," she answered, her voice thick with sleep and satisfied desire.

"That you, Scully?" Barry Winfield boomed through the phone. "You still asleep? Half the day's gone. Girl, you field agents have all the luck. I've been working half the damn night to get you those results."

"You got them?" At the mention of the case, Scully's blood quickened. While the it had never been far from her thoughts, between the car accident and the recent developments in her relationship with Starling, her concentration had unfortunately been focused elsewhere. She sat up in bed, dislodging Clarice who rubbed a hand through her hair and looked at her quizzically. "You mean the blood and scrapings I dropped off yesterday?" she added for the benefit of her newly awakened partner.

"Of course I mean the stuff you dropped off yesterday," Barry replied in exasperation. "What else would I be talking about? You get your brains scrambled, Scully? You're sounding a little off your game."

Scully laughed wryly. "As a matter of fact, I was in an accident yesterday after I left your lab. So yeah, I'm still a little scrambled," she fibbed, although Dana suspected that there were so many endorphins currently rushing through her veins that somebody could have dropped an anvil on her head and she wouldn't have felt it. "Sorry."

Barry was immediately contrite. "You okay? I mean it wasn't serious? Geez, Scully, I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry about it, Bar. Just give me those results."

"Yeah, no problem." A slight rustle of papers echoed through the static of Barry's portable phone. "Her blood's clean. Toxicology came up completely clear. You were expecting that, right?"

"Right," Scully grunted, leaning over Starling to grab the notebook and pen she always kept on the bedside table. She scribbled the words "Tox clean" on the paper and showed it to Clarice who nodded. "We still don't know how he grabs them. What about the other?"

"You got yourself a nice pretty DNA sample that is inconsistent with the victim's own DNA. If you've got anybody to match the sample with, I'd say you got him dead bang."

Her heart lurched. They were suddenly so much closer to this monster than they had been before. Silently she blessed Kimberly Ellis and the spirit that wouldn't let her die without fighting back first. "What can you tell me about him?"

"The usual. White. Type O blood."

Scully sighed and slumped back into the headboard. "In other words, half the known world."

"Just about," he replied cheerfully. "I'm not a genie, you know. Scully, you're getting about as bad as the rest of the cowboys who think I just do that voodoo that I do and can tell them who their man is."

"No, Barry, it's just that DNA's a big red neon sign that says 'I did it.' and we can't tell who's holding the sign. It's frustrating as hell."

"I'm with you, there. Sorry I can't be more help."

"You've been great. I owe you," Scully reassured him.

"Then come work for me." He laughed. "Later, Scully."

Scully tossed the phone back in its cradle and regarded the woman beside her. Starling's eyes were glittering with interest. "If we can find him, we've got the nails for his coffin."

"The scrapings were his," Starling muttered.

"Well, there's always the possibility that she scratched someone else. If she and her ex-- what's her name--" Scully snapped her fingers in frustration.

"Terri," Starling supplied.

"Right. If she and Terri physically fought, then it could conceivably belong to her."

"Nothing in the reports about a fight. Just an argument."

Scully nodded. "I'm betting it's his."

"We just have to find him."

"Right." Their voices trailed off as the contrast between their intimate situation and the ugly business that had brought them together made itself known. "I guess it's back to the real world, huh?"

"In a minute," Starling agreed. But she made no move to leave their sanctuary.

The forest green sheets were pooled around their waists, and Scully felt Clarice's eyes brushing softly over her skin. The evidence of their lovemaking hung heavy in Dana's nostrils and renewed itself between her legs as she rested under the tender gaze. Her muscles were still liquid with the pleasure of this woman's caress, and she felt a tightening in her loins that was her body's clamor for more. "You have to stop looking at me that way," she found herself murmuring.

"Why is that?" Starling replied huskily, leaning towards Dana.

"Because it's like a touch," she whispered before her mouth was captured in a gentle kiss. Scully could taste the faint traces of Clarice's earlier, far more intimate, kiss; and she parted her lips further to invite her lover closer.

The kiss lingered for long moments, until Dana drew herself away and dropped her head on Clarice's shoulder with a muffled groan.

"I know," Starling whispered in her ear. "We don't have time." She slipped her hands into Scully's hair and pulled Dana's eyes into her own. "There's still so much..." Clarice swallowed hard and continued, her voice thready and hoarse. "Dana... What's happening between us-- I can't stop it now. We've gone too far. Not even if I wanted to."

"Do you?" Her hand was resting on Starling's heart, and she felt her own heart pick up the frantic cadence she found there. "Want to?"

Starling shook her head vehemently. "Not for a second. But I need to know from you, Dana. No regrets?"

_Regrets?_

The word pinballed wildly through Scully's thoughts. How could she regret anything that happened between them-- from the delicate opening of her heart to the passion that Starling had wrenched from her body? Clarice had unwittingly taught Scully so much about herself-- not just about the pleasure that she was capable of feeling, but about the reawakening of her own soul. She thought she had been dead inside for so long, when in fact there were parts of her that had never really been alive. Something had been born these last days with Clarice Starling, something wondrous and completely unlike anything she had ever thought she would be.

_"One day, Dana, you will become the woman you always wanted to be. Even if you didn't know it."_

It was something Melissa had told her a long time ago, when she was in one of what Scully called her "empowerment" phases. She had laughed off her sister's New Age-- and somewhat pompous-- proclamation and insisted that she was exactly who she was supposed to be already.

_"Not supposed to be. Want to be. What do you want to be?"_

_"When I grow up? I'm already grown-up, Missy. Give it up."_

Melissa had only shaken her head sadly at her sister and did as she was bade, letting the subject drop. It had only been a few months later that Melissa had died in her place, and Scully had vowed that the innocents in her life would never again suffer because of her. She had begun to shut out everyone that she loved, fearing for their lives, until there was only Mulder and the Files. Now that one was burned beyond recognition and the other slowly morphing into something she could no longer recognize, she had despaired of finding any meaning in it all. Five years... and all for nothing.

Or maybe not. The trials she had faced with Mulder had taught her something about her own strength of purpose. A formidable will that was unmatched when she set her mind towards something. From the moment she had seen Clarice Starling, something in the other woman's taciturn manner-- the straight set of her shoulders and unwavering glance-- had called to her. Spoken in a language she thought uniquely her own.

Looking at Clarice now, she realized that she was no longer alone.

A state of being she had accepted as her lot long ago-- Scully had perfected solitude into a fine art. Men she had met were intimidated by her unflinching honesty and intellect. Women... well, that had been someplace she had been afraid to go. She could admit that to herself now. She had filed all those smoky kisses under the heading of "youthful experimentation" and willfully ignored the resonance that they possessed even now, so many years later.

_"It's not like I've never been kissed,"_ she had told Clarice. Oh, she had been kissed. And kissed and kissed. But never had she taken it the next step. She had danced; she had laughed; she had cupped rough hands in her own, steadying them to hold a light for her cigarette. But she hadn't ever allowed them the liberty of roaming over her skin.

Not the way Clarice's eyes did now.

"Dana?"

She opened her eyes.

"Come back to me," Starling beckoned.

"No regrets," she whispered hoarsely. "Not a single one."

\---------------------------------

Water streamed down Starling's face, slicking her dark hair against her skull and tightly outlining the sharp features of her face. She stood in the shower alone, Scully having shyly declined her offer to share with a slight coloring of her cheeks. It was the first time Dana had hesitated in their uncertain courtship dance, and the refusal oddly reassured Starling that her formidably competent lover was as moved by their new bond as she was.

_She said no regrets...._ and now Starling searched for her own and found none. Lecter's chiding commentary was gone, as if silenced by her consummation. Clarice felt centered now, at peace in a way that she had never felt before-- even before Lecter, if such a time were still imaginable to her. Her passion for Dana-- and the red-head's for her-- anchored her now, tethering her as she traveled the atramentous path that led to Kimberly Ellis' killer.

They would find him.

\---------------------------------

"What's that I smell?" Starling asked, emerging from the shower and into the kitchen.

"Burned bagels," came the reply.

"Mmm... my favorite."

"Everybody's a critic," Scully complained, but snickered softly. "I forgot to check the setting. Mulder likes his bagels charred beyond recognition. Go figure."

Mulder again. Every tawdry rumor that Starling had ever heard about the two partners surfaced in her unwilling mind. They did make such a devastatingly beautiful couple. "He here for breakfast much?" she asked, hoping her voice was nonchalant, for the sudden pounding of her heart certainly wasn't.

Scully's wryly arched brow told her she had been busted. "Unfortunately he's here more often than I'd like. He has a way of just showing up and making himself comfortable whether I like it or not. Since the Files were burned it's gotten worse. I'm pretty much the only tie to the real world that he has left." She ran a weary hand through her hair, pushing red tendrils away from her face. Her expression softened with understanding. "It's different with Mulder."

Not trusting her voice, Starling only nodded.

Wordlessly, Scully wrapped her arms around Clarice's frame and captured the other woman's mouth with her own. Breaking away, Dana murmured, "I chose you, Clarice Starling. Don't you forget it."

Starling smiled ruefully. "It's kind of hard to believe, you know."

"Not from where I'm standing."

"Then you'll have to lend me your view occasionally."

"Anytime." Scully grinned. "Now, can I interest you in some only-slightly-burned bagels and coffee?"

Arms still loosely linked, they crossed the small kitchen and busied themselves slicing the bread and pouring coffee. Scully stuck her head in the refrigerator. "Cream cheese?"

"Is it real?" Starling made a face. "I hate the fat-free kind."

Scully emerged triumphantly, holding the silver foil package. "Ah! A woman after my own heart. Of course it's real."

Settling themselves at the small table, Starling regarded her lover across a cup of coffee. "You going to tell him about this?" Not needing to elaborate on who he or what this was.

Dana studied the swirls the knife made in the cream cheese a moment, then answered. "Probably not. At least not right away." Seeing Starling's darkening expression, she held up a hand. "And not for the reasons you think. It wouldn't bother him that I was with a woman." She laughed. "I think he actually expects that from me, sooner or later."

"Then what would bother him?" Clarice asked. "That you were with someone at all?"

"Mulder and I have a kind of claim on each other. For the last five years we've been the crazies in the basement. We've seen things nobody else wants to believe." Her eyes glimmered with a sadness that resonated with Starling and the horror of her own nightmares these last seven years. "And we've lost... so much, Clarice. So many people..."

"I understand about death."

"Not about death that you caused. Mulder's father and my sister were murdered because of our involvement with the X-Files. And that was just the beginning." Anguished blue eyes focused on Starling. "You can't begin to imagine what they've done to me..." Scully's voice trailed off as her shoulders began to shake, fighting off tears.

"Dana--" Starling moved towards her slender lover, but Scully waved her off.

"No." Hastily, she wiped her eyes. "I'm okay... and I'll tell you all about it. Soon. But we've got so much to do first." She gestured at the pile of case folders sitting on the kitchen table. "I want to be someplace, away from all this when we talk."

Scully's promise was both reassuring and worrying, because it implied something beyond the right now for the couple, but seeing the obvious pain Dana was in filled Clarice with trepidation about its source. She managed a small smile for her lover. "It's a deal."

Their hands clasped and a quiet peace settled over them. Their respective pasts had been acknowledged, as had their potential future. All they needed now was time.

Scully nodded at the case files, ending the moment filled with silent promises. "Shall we get to work?"

* * *

"I still don't get how he grabs them." Scully rubbed a weary hand over her face. After her own quick shower, she had pulled on one of the dozen FBI sweatshirts she owned and a pair of jeans. With her hair pulled back into a tiny ponytail and no makeup, she presented a far different-- and equally entrancing-- woman than the one Clarice first met. To Starling, the contrast was fascinating. The rapier sharp intellect was still there, but the face and body had softened considerably. "How are we going to catch a ghost?"

The question uncomfortably reminded Starling that her mind most definitely wasn't on business. Blowing out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, Clarice shook her head. "Sometimes I've found it's helpful to concentrate on what we do know rather than what we don't."

Scully nodded thoughtfully, nibbling on a piece of bagel. "Okay. We know... what? He kills women."

"Let's start there."

"Okay? Why does he kill women?"

"Remember, concentrate on what we do know. We don't know why. Look at the end result."

"The staged death scenes."

"Right." Starling leaned over the cluttered kitchen table and pulled out the sets of crime photos from the five victims. "Look at this scene. He's trying to tell us something here. Make a point. We have to figure it out."

"Like a performance artist," Scully muttered. "I'll never look at mimes the same way again." Starling snorted into her coffee, and Dana pulled a wry face. "Sorry, sometimes I think Mulder's sense of humor-- or should I say sense of the absurd-- has rubbed off."

"Don't worry about it. Actually the performance art analogy isn't a bad one. Okay-- look at this. All the women were found in the outdoors, posed, their faces uncovered. What does that tell you?"

"He wanted them to be found. He wanted us to see what he had done."

"Right, but look at it from his point of view. What is he trying to tell us?"

"About himself?"

"About these women."

Scully studied the macabre pictures, the almost identical images running together beneath her gaze. Involuntarily she flashed on a image of herself in that position, legs grotesquely spread in an abominable parody of sexual pleasure. A wave of shame and violent horror washed through her body, and she shivered. "He wants to humiliate them," she whispered. "They've done something unforgivable."

Watching her lover closely, Starling suppressed the urge to wrap her arms around Dana's slim form. Scully was her partner this morning, not the woman she was falling deeply in love with. "You're right. What else?" she prompted, seeing Scale's eyes leap from picture to picture, beginning to make the elementary connections that would lead them to their killer.

"He cut off their hands."

"And?"

"Did they take something from him?"

"Possibly. Or..."

The doctor in Scully spoke up. "You amputate a diseased limb. Their hands were unclean, full of sickness."

Starling leaned back in surprise. The idea had never occurred to her. "And their breasts?" she prompted.

The analogy didn't hold true for the damage done to the women's breasts, and Scully frowned. "He hates women. He wants to disfigure them."

Starling shook her head curtly. "Don't think about what he's telling us about himself. Remember, he's trying to tell us something about them."

"What kind of woman doesn't have any breasts?"

"Not any. Just one," Starling corrected absently, her own eyes roving over the pictures so familiar they were etched into her memory. And would remain so forever. "He only cut off one breast."

Silence descended, broken only by the quiet hum of the refrigerator nearby. Scully's hands played with her coffee mug while she continued to examine the photos before her. The red-head went very still as her eyes rested on the photo of the only victim she had seen in person. Kimberly Elise. "Amazons," she murmured.

Starling's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Amazons, Clarice. Legend-- an inaccurate one, I might add-- says that they cut off one breast to make it easier for them to shoot a bow and arrow. They were also an all female society. No men."

"Kimberly Ellis was..."

Starling and Scully stared at each other with dawning awareness. "Starling, were all these women gay?"

Clarice thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I know at least one of them-- the first victim, Deborah Thomas-- had a boyfriend. In fact, the local blue boys looked long and hard at him as a perp. That was before they found out that he was with fifty other people at some Baptist retreat when Deborah was kidnapped and murdered."

"Had they broken up?"

"Yeah, but he was real tight-lipped about the reason. That's why the locals liked him."

Scully cocked her head. "Could have been embarrassing for him, if she'd left him for another woman. That's not something I can imagine most men admitting easily."

"But he's clean. He's got half a dozen ministers vouching for him."

"I'm not saying he's the perp, Starling. But..."

"But that might be our link between the victims. And it could give us a lead on how he's targeting them." Starling pounded her fist gently against her forehead. "Why didn't I see it sooner?"

Dana captured the injuring hand in her own and brought the palm to her lips. "Shh... Don't do that. I happen to like what you've got up there." She traced the quiet arc of Clarice's brow. "Okay?"

"I didn't ask the question, Scully."

"You didn't have any reason to. The only reason that we knew about Kimberly Ellis was because of Belinda Harris' tip that there was bad blood between Kimberly and her parents. Otherwise she was pretty closeted."

"It just never occurred to me that all these women..." Frustration filled her voice. "There wasn't anything in their houses. I saw magazines and books at Kimberly's house. But the others..." She shook her head savagely. "Maybe I just didn't look hard enough."

"Well..." Scully hesitated.

"What, Dana?"

"It is sort of close to home."

"What do you mean?"

"Clarice..." Scully glanced around the room, her gaze encompassing their close chairs and palpable sense of intimacy between them. "You're gay."

Starling gestured abruptly as if to say _So what?_ and leaned back in her chair.

The movement away from Scully didn't go unnoticed by either woman. "And you're not exactly comfortable with it."

Folding her arms across her chest defensively, Clarice stared her new lover down. "So you're the poster child for self-acceptance now? After one night?" Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Starling knew she was being unreasonable, that Scully was trying to comfort her for royally missing what should have been obvious. Lecter's chiding singsong echoed in her ears, _tsking_ in disapproval.

"Clarice, no... That's not what I'm saying at all. I have no idea how this..." She shook her head and then corrected herself. "How my feelings for you are going to change my life. It challenges everything that I've been. My family, my job, my faith-- I can't think of a single person in my life that's going to be happy about this." Scully pushed away from the table and turned to face the shuttered features of her new lover. "But that's not what we're talking about here."

"What are we talking about, Dana? Because I've forgotten," Starling retorted angrily. "I thought we were trying to catch a killer and instead you're deconstructing my psyche."

Scully wouldn't back down. "But isn't that how you catch your monsters? You let them so far into your head that you can't help but see what they do. You become this perfect vessel that they fill up with their insanity, and then you... " She continued, her voice fading into the roar in Clarice's ears. Starling shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wanting to deny Scully's words, wanting to deny Scully herself-- but their time together had already been irrevocably imprinted on her. Bracing herself for the familiar, angry litany that was to follow and hearing Ardelia's sadness and frustration murmuring beneath Dana's words; Clarice silently placed herself at the mercy of the woman standing over her, hoping there would be something left with which to carry on after it was all over. She brought her gaze back up to rest on blue eyes that narrowed then widened as they regarded Starling with new awareness. "He never knew, did he?

This was the last thing she expected to hear from Scully's mouth. Bewildered by the non sequitur, she asked helplessly, "What?"

"Lecter. He never knew about you and Ardelia. It's the one thing he never figured out about you. The one thing he could never see."

Unease filled Starling's body, and her eyes darted wildly about the room as if seeking some refuge from the unerring accuracy of Dana's words. Scully was so close to uncovering something that no one else had ever touched. Not even Clarice herself understood why her mind worked the way it did-- why she was able to prowl the nocturnal corridors of sanity when it drove so many others over the brink. She simply functioned the only way she knew how, absorbing all the lessons her triumvirate of fathers had taught her and reflecting them back through the unique prism of her mind. Her time with Ardelia had been separate from all that-- warm moments of heat and sex, tenderness and laughter-- a haven from the nightmarish landscape that occupied her waking hours and bled into her dreams. "Nobody knew."

Scully shook her head wearily, an unfathomable sadness coloring her eyes as the last piece of the puzzle that was Clarice Starling clicked into place. "Oh, Jesus, Clarice. I'm so sorry. I should have seen..." She dropped to her knees in front of Starling's chair, bringing their eyes level. The depth and resonance of their connection made Clarice's stomach clench with need. "All this time, I thought you were ashamed, but... it was just the one thing they couldn't touch, wasn't it? You had to keep something separate just to stay sane. And you chose that part of yourself. No wonder you didn't ask the question about these women." A strangled laugh snarled Scully's throat as she pushed away from Starling. "Or want to get involved with me."

Clarice caught her arm before she could break free. The momentum pulled both women to their feet, holding them suspended in a chaotic embrace. "Dana... Wait..."

"I made you cross that last line, Clarice. Goddamn me. You wanted one thing for yourself..."

Starling interrupted the litany of self-reproach the only way she knew how. She tangled her fingers in Dana's hair and brought her lover's mouth to hers. The kiss was fleeting and gentle, stopping the avalanche of pain that threatened to consume them.

"They've been all over your mind and soul..." Scully murmured.

"But not my heart, Dana. Never that." Doubt and fear welled in Starling's lungs, constricting her breath. Ignoring the warning cries of her instinct for self-preservation, she instead concentrated on the warm memory of Scully holding her. Even before they became lovers, the silent strength of Dana's arms had sheltered her from her nightmares like nothing else ever had. Her body, it seemed, had trusted before her mind. Now she met Dana's eyes with renewed resolution. "That's why..." The unfamiliar words stumbled from her tongue. "That's why I need you. You make me feel safe, and you make me feel strong. And I've never known anything like this before, Dana. I don't want to lose it now. Not when we're just beginning."

Scully stared at her lover, her face a mixture of incredulity, gratitude, and undeniable love. "But what about this?" She gestured to the haphazard pile of crime scene photos and lab reports scattered over the table. "What about keeping something separate?"

"I don't know," Starling admitted. "But I do know that the life I've been living... it's just no good anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. I'd... like to try something different."

A kiss, more tender than anything had a right to be, was Scully's reply to the halting and fearful declaration that placed Clarice's soul in her hands. And in the quiet silence of their embrace, Starling realized it was the easiest decision she had ever made.

The shrill whine of both their beepers simultaneously erupting ended their moment of peace. Starling reached hers first, groaning at the 183 message. She looked at Scully, an eerie paleness descending across her face.

"He's gotten another one."

* * *

Once more Starling and Scully found themselves seated together in the close confines of a military helicopter hurtling over the tree-topped mountains, only this time the nightmare was still unfolding. What they had wasn't another dead woman, but a reported abduction.

They were getting closer.

"He's got to be completely falling apart, Scully. I don't get it. The precision of the last scene-- and then this? He grabs someone on one of the busiest streets in the town, at a fairly early hour when anyone could have been passing by?" Starling grimaced as she stared sightlessly at the panoramic view beneath her. "It's too fast."

"Well, there is the internal damage he did to Kimberly Ellis. I checked the posts from the earlier victims. No reported damage to the uterus. He shredded hers. So there's some indication that he was beginning to lose it."

"Did you confirm with the ME's on that? Did they actually check the uterus?"

Scully shook her head briefly. "I left messages with all of them, but I haven't heard back yet. I was going to follow up this morning. I figured we had some time. I'm sorry, Starling."

Before she could stop herself, Starling captured Scully's hand in hers, bringing it close. "Don't go there, Dana. We all thought we had time."

"But we knew he was beginning..."

"Beginning, Scully. That's the operative word. It's not the obviousness of his actions that confuses me-- I mean, when Bundy finally decompensated, he literally ran through the Chi Omega sorority house randomly killing women. It's the suddenness." She gently traced the curve of Scully's palm with her thumb, lost in thought and unaware of the intimacy or the bemused smile it brought to her partner's face. "It's almost like there was a trigger of some sort. Something specific that set him off."

"Could it have been something he saw? Maybe this woman he grabbed reminded him of someone?" Scully offered.

"Maybe." Starling's mind was scuttling about in a thousand different directions, none of them concrete, randomly processing the information they had assembled to this point. It wasn't completely impossible, she supposed, this UNSUB's decompensation accelerating-- but it just didn't feel right. Her years of experience told her there was a trigger for this-- and a massive one at that.

"We're close, Starling. We'll get him." Scully's quiet words were punctuated by a gentle squeeze of her hand, and with a shock Clarice realized their fingers were still intertwined. She glanced at the alabaster profile that had become as familiar as her own over these last days. In making love to Dana and accepting all the possibilities held in those pale eyes, she had stepped from behind the barricades she believed had protected her sanity all these years. Dana was right when she had realized that Starling had fearfully kept her love for Ardelia far, far away from the darkness in which she walked. When she had met Dana Scully, however, she had been forced to make a choice.

And discovered it hadn't been a choice at all.

From the first, Scully had walked beside her through the labyrinthine maze of this monster's thinking. True, she had been horrified and sickened by the things she had seen, but she hadn't flinched from the burden of finding their quarry. Had that been the extent of her interaction with Dana Scully, Starling would have considered herself lucky to have met the other woman.

But Scully hadn't stopped there. She had willingly stepped into Starling's nightmares and, with the slender shape of her body and the quiet murmur of her words, brought light to the terrifying realm of Clarice's nightscape. In Dana's arms, the madness retreated.

Had she really been running from herself all that time?

Suddenly, the last place in the world that Clarice Starling wanted to be was on a helicopter on the way to a crime scene. Right now the woman who had told Ardelia Mapp that she couldn't think of anything worse than being forced out of the FBI wanted nothing more than to take the woman beside, retreat from this pursuit, and explore the unique soul of her new lover. She wanted to wrap the red-head around her and learn the meaning of the marks she had found on Scully's torso, the delicate tattoo on her hip, and the tiny scar on the back of her neck. Starling knew that Dana had her own nightmares, and she wondered if this newfound love held them at bay.

The pilot's tinny voice crackled through their headsets. "We're coming up on Asheville now. Won't be too much longer."

Seeing Scully's thumbs up to the pilot, Starling shook her head, trying to clear the treasonous thoughts from her mind.

"What's wrong?" Scully voice queried close.

Clarice smiled ruefully. "Just wishing I was somewhere else."

"Without me?" The question was lightly phrased, but their serious meaning didn't go undetected.

A quick glance at the pilot showed him to be completely occupied with guiding them through some small turbulence. She pressed a soft kiss against Scully hand. "Never. I just want to be with you, away from this."

A small flush warmed Scully's skin as she absorbed the silent declaration behind the quiet words. "We will be, I promise you, Clarice."

"Not soon enough," Starling muttered.

"Look at it this way, at least we're together now. And if this guy's unraveling as fast as we think, hopefully it will all be over in the next couple of days."

"If we're lucky..."

Scully ignored Starling's cautionary phrase and continued. "And I know a great little bed and breakfast in northern Virginia. It should be beautiful this time of year, but a little early in the season, so we'll be pretty much alone. The whole place used to be a tobacco plantation, but it was burned to the ground during the Civil War. When the owner came back from the war, he planted these oak trees that are still there. The gardens are amazing--" Scully halted in mid-sentence at the expression on Starling's face. "What is it?"

"We're together..." Starling repeated Scully's words as if to herself. "We're together..."

Not comprehending, Scully shook her head, a harder edge to her voice. "Does that bother you?"

Abruptly, Starling jerked her eyes to Scully, focusing on her partner. "Not me, Scully. Him. He's seen us. He knows we're together. That was his trigger."

\---------------------------------

The chopper touched down before Scully could ask any one of the millions of questions that crowded her brain with their sudden presence. They were hustled into an unmarked police car by an almost manic Detective Merriam and chauffeured to the station. The detective's edgy presence kept her silent until they found themselves momentarily alone, waiting for the kidnapped woman's partner to be roused from a fitful sleep. "What do you mean, he's seen us, Starling? How? Where?"

Blue flames snapped and sparkled in Starling's eyes. "Any one of a dozen places. Asheville's not that big. More to the point-- lots of UNSUBs like to hang around, watch the cops work. He could have been watching us from the very beginning."

Scully lowered her voice. "But we weren't-- together-- then."

"Didn't stop Belinda Harris from making the same damn assumption." Irony glittered in her pale eyes. "And she was right, too."

The red-head's voice was skeptical. "So he sees us, makes some astounding leaps in logic, and freaks out because the people hunting him are the very ones that he hates. That doesn't make any sense, Clarice."

Starling shrugged. "Lecter killed people because they had bad table manners. It makes sense somehow to him. That's what we have to figure out."

"So how does he target these women? The latest vic and Kimberly Ellis were grabbed outside a gay bar, but how did he get the others? Belinda Harris' sister was taken from her home. How does he know to pick them? I mean, I've heard of gaydar, Starling, but this is a little beyond that."

"Maybe he stalks them. We thought he was on a lunar cycle because all the women were found on or around the same time of the month, but I checked. The moon wasn't in one of its significant phases-- either new or full-- during any of the murders. I thought it was just an anomaly, but maybe he was using the time to travel and to scope out the new terrain. Maybe he simply goes to gay bars, picks his mark, and then studies them. Waits until the timing is right, and the whoosh." She snapped her fingers. "Right into thin air."

"And grabbing Kimberly outside of Cahoots is just another sign of his decompensation accelerating."

"Exactly."

Scully whistled softly. "I'll be damned."

"The murders coming every month were themselves a sign that he was coming apart. There were two previous murders-- three months and six months-- before the four we've been tracking, but I wasn't sure it was him. Now I'm wondering if I should have gone further back. He could have been doing this for years, Dana. And we're just now catching up to him."

"Why didn't the ritual nature of the kills flag something in CAIN or VICAP sooner, then?"

"Well, if he's moving from place to place, you're dealing with lots of individual jurisdictions. And if they don't plug in the info--"

"Like our hot-dog Merriam did..."

"Right, CAIN and VICAP wouldn't know it. Before she left the Bureau, Lucy Farinelli was working on something she called 'The Good Son.' She said it was sort of like a computer virus-- all the locals would have to do is download it to their system, link to CAIN, and the program itself would go in and flag any anomalous cases and send the data back to Quantico. It would have caught these and brought them to our attention. The way it stands now, we're just catch as catch can."

Scully saw the darkening look in her lover's expression and knew Starling was chastising herself for all the lost souls she hadn't been able to avenge. "Stop it," she commanded in a low voice. "We're going to get him now. That's the best we can do. Let the rest go."

A rueful smile slunk onto Starling's face, and she shook her head in mild disbelief. "You're good."

"I'd like to think I'm getting to know you pretty well, Clarice Starling," she replied. "And I plan on getting to know you a whole lot better, too."

"That can be definitely be arranged," Starling lightly rejoined. "But in the meantime..."

"Back to our regularly scheduled crisis," Scully finished for her partner. She nodded at the steaming coffee pot and the stack of styrofoam cups beside it sitting on a corner of the conference room table. "You want some?"

"Oh yeah. I think we're gonna need it."

Scully crossed the room, conscious of Clarice's eyes following her as she moved. Her gaze wasn't sexual or possessive, merely intensely aware-- almost as if Starling could see the muscles working below her skin or hear her thoughts before they fired the synapses in her brain. Beneath her lover's scrutiny, Dana felt vibrantly alive-- her intellectual, emotional, and physical selves united in a way like never before. "So why did he pick this woman?" she asked, her back still to Clarice. The prosaic question countered the extraordinary sensations racing through her blood and drew her mind to the task at hand. "Just dumb, bad luck on her part?"

"I'm not sure," Starling replied. "We'll know more when we talk to her companion."

As if on cue, Merriam rapped once on the door and opened it, guiding a woman into the room. To Dana's surprise, this woman didn't have the shell-shocked vacancy of most victims; but instead a bereft loneliness surrounded her, as if her most vital part had been severed. She stood a head taller than Scully and Starling; and long, dark hair streaked with gray settled around her shoulders. Even in her rumpled clothes and obvious distress, she carried herself with a quiet elegance that Scully admired. "Agent Starling, Agent Scully, this is Grace Fitzsimmons. Ms. Fitzsimmons was involved in the kidnapping last night."

"Thank you, Detective," Scully replied, knowing that Starling wouldn't want Merriam's palpable tension interfering in their interview. "We can take it from here."

Confusion descended on the handsome young cop's face, but Scully thought he accepted his dismissal rather gracefully. "Uh... sure... well, I'll be in the squad room if you need anything else..." He turned towards the door.

"Detective?" Scully called him back. "We're going to need your help later. Try and get some sleep, okay? It's going to be a long couple of days for us all."

He grinned at her, knowing now that they weren't just farming him out and intent on taking all the credit for themselves. "Will do, Agent Scully."

Turning to Grace Fitzsimmons, she offered a hand in greeting. "I'm Special Agent Dana Scully and this is my partner, Clarice Starling..." Scully's voice trailed away as she realized that Clarice was looking at the woman in strange recognition and dismay.

"I know you," Grace murmured.

"Yes, ma'am," Starling replied, her sadness evident in the quiet words. "We met yesterday."

She studied Starling for a moment longer, then a faint smile creased her features. "How did your friend like the scarf?"

To Scully's shock, Starling blushed violently and ducked her head in embarrassment. "Um.... I haven't had a chance to give it to her yet."

The smile deepened as Grace's gray eyes flickered from Starling, focused on Scully for a moment and then found their way back to Clarice. "It will look lovely on her."

Starling returned the smile with one of her own. "Yes, ma'am, I'm sure it will. And as soon as we get your Chris back, I'll give it to her."

"You remember her name?" Surprise echoed in the woman's musical voice, followed by a low chuckle. "Of course you did, you're an FBI agent. I should have known it that day-- you didn't seem the type to be flitting about art festivals. You're here to..." Here her voice stumbled for the first time, revealing the extraordinary depth of her pain. "To catch him. Right?"

The hope infused in that last word was heartbreaking to Scully, and she found herself replying for both herself and her partner. "That's exactly what we're here for."

Starling picked up the cue to start the formal interview itself. "And we need you to help us." She pulled a chair away from the conference table and offered it to Grace. "We need to know everything that happened last night, even if it seems totally inconsequential. I know you've already gone over this with the uniformed officers and Detective Merriam, but I'm afraid I have to ask you to do it again."

"Of course," she replied, instinctively responding to the strength in Starling's voice. "Let me just get my bearings."

"Would some coffee help?" Scully asked.

"I'm not sure anything can help right now, Agent Scully, but I appreciate your offer. Yes, thank you."

While Scully busied herself pouring coffee, Clarice settled Grace in the chair and sat down beside her. "Whenever you're ready, Ms. Fitzsimmons."

"Well... Chris and I aren't usually ones for bar-hopping." She smiled self-deprecatingly. "We're both getting a little long in the tooth to enjoy all that smoke and noise. But every once and a while we like to go out and take a look around, see what's going on. The girls and boys today are so different than in our day-- so bold and proud. Twenty years ago the only places you found gay bars were in big cities, or out in the middle of nowhere on some country back road that you'd never find in a million years. Of course, I suppose that was the point."

"So you went to Cahoots last night?" Starling prompted gently.

"We'd had such good sales Saturday, and the festival was winding down... so we thought we'd reward ourselves. Chris had heard some of the other artists talking about it, and it seemed harmless enough to me..."

"Do you know about what time you go there?"

"It couldn't have been too terribly late. Probably around nine or so. We decided to have dinner first, much to the irritation of their hostess. I think she took it as a personal affront that we hadn't called first."

Scully and Starling exchanged wry glances at the memory of their seven-foot, buckskin-clad, cross-dressing hostess. "I can imagine."

"After dinner we went downstairs to the club. We danced for a while, and then we ran into some people that we met during the festival. We found a little table and all sat down, chatting about the things we had seen, mutual acquaintances, that sort of thing." Grace took a tiny sip of her coffee, grimaced at its strength and sat it back on the metal conference table. "We had been talking for, I guess, a half an hour at most, before the smoke started getting to Chris. She said she was going to get some fresh air and excused herself."

"Was this a usual occurrence?" Starling asked.

"What do you mean, Agent?"

"I mean, when you went out to clubs, did Chris step out for some air?"

Grace look perplexed for a moment, then nodded in confirmation. "Yes, actually she did. I never really thought about it. At the neighborhood pub we frequent, there's a small patio, so that's where she usually goes. But this place didn't have one."

"So you didn't really think anything of it."

"That's right. It wasn't until about, I don't know, ten or fifteen minutes had passed that I started to wonder where she was."

"Then what did you do?"

"Well, at first I checked at the bar, thinking maybe she had stopped off to refresh our drinks, but there was no sign of her. Then I went upstairs and checked with the bartender up there-- he hadn't seen her." The older woman took a long, shuddering breath; and a trembling hand passed unsteadily through her hair. "I went outside... The night air-- it was crisp, and I remember thinking that Chris would be cold without her jacket." Grey-green eyes met Scully's as she smiled sadly. "She catches cold so easily," she said, shivering as if in some synaptic sympathy with the memory of the cool night air. "I didn't see her at all. That's when I began to worry. I knew she wouldn't have gone far, most likely just strolled to the end of the street and back to clear out her lungs. I turned right and went all the way up the block, but I didn't see her. Then I turned the other way and began to walk back. That... that..." Her voice shook with the effort of recollection. "That was when..."

"It's okay, Grace..." Starling's hand gripped the older woman's. "Take your time."

"I saw her handbag." Grace wiped away the tears that had begun to form in her eyes and shook her head. "It wasn't really a handbag-- more of an oversized checkbook than anything. But it had her driver's license, some credit cards and her cash. She always carries it in the inside pocket of her blazer. So it won't fall out-- she always says. That's when I began to worry."

"You called the police then?"

"I went into the bar and they did, yes. The bartender got the owner, and when he told her what I had said, her face went white and she called that young man who brought me in just now. Detective Merriam."

\---------------------------------

After they had settled Grace back in Merriam's office, Scully and Starling returned to the conference room that was now their de facto headquarters. "Do you really think it's him?" Scully asked skeptically. "I mean, Merriam made it sound like we had a witness to the whole thing. All we've got is a lost checkbook and a missing woman."

"Don't forget about Terri," Starling commented. "She apparently thought it was him. She called Merriam in the first place."

"And you, Starling? What do you think?"

"I don't think, Scully. I know it was him."

Dana arched a questioning brow, prompting her partner to continue.

"He's been watching us, Dana. I wasn't sure before, but I am now."

"Why is that?"

"Because I was talking to Grace Fitzsimmons on the street in front of her booth not ten hours before her lover disappeared. He saw me talking to her. He took her to taunt me. He's laughing at us, telling us that he can literally snatch someone right out from under our noses."

Scully sucked in a sharp breath and studied her partner closely. "Don't you think you're making this a little too _ad_ _hominum_?"

Starling looked at her ruefully. "Is that the face you make with Mulder? When you tell him his little green men aren't out there?"

"Pretty close, yeah," she admitted.

"Every single instinct I have is screaming at me, Dana. And they're telling me that this is our chance to get him."

Over the last five years, Scully had learned that belief without reason was the only altar upon with Mulder prayed. Though she had often stood accused of apostasy in this particular religion, five years of give-and-take with Mulder had established a rhythm between the two partners-- telling her when to press forward with her doubts and when to let him run with his gut. She was aware of just how much of a tempering presence she was for him and how he had come to rely on her sharply analytical thinking to keep him from the worst of his excesses. In a lot of ways she had been the quietly guiding hand behind their partnership, establishing some credibility-- however tenuous it had been-- for the Files in the corridors of the J. Edgar Hoover Building. In fact, she had been so successful that the Consortium-- which had allowed Mulder to operate unmolested on the lunatic fringe for years before her arrival-- decided that she and Mulder had gone far enough. With cruel strokes they had rendered her womb barren, her faith in shreds, her partner on the verge of self-destruction, and the Files in ashes.

Standing before her now was someone else asking her to believe without reason, yet Starling's eyes were not alight with the possibility of discovering something heretofore unknown to the human race. Instead, Scully saw an eternal weariness shading her irises with its blue sadness, an exhausted awareness of exactly what she would find if she failed to catch this particular monster.

Five years with Mulder. Five days with Clarice Starling. Could she believe that easily without reason? And yet-- by trusting her body to this woman, in letting the delicate hands now gripping the back of a chair stroke into her skin an undreamed of pleasure and release-- hadn't she already?

"All right..." she acceded softly, releasing a quietly held breath. Fingers brushed her cheek so fleetingly they almost didn't register, but the silent gratitude in Claire's face shone through. "How are we supposed to catch this son of a bitch? We don't even know where to look."

For the first time in their acquaintance, a muted exuberance glittered through Starling's subdued exterior. Scully recognized the fever of the hunt, when the final pieces are clicking into place and the end is inevitably near. One way or the other, it would end in this small Southern town nestled in the mountains. "That's what I didn't get a chance to tell you before you decided to play Derby Queen with your Taurus. I think I've figured out how he's able to spend so much time working on these girls and yet still be mobile."

Scully gestured impatiently with her hands for Starling to continue.

"Land Cruisers," she pronounced excitedly.

"Beg pardon?"

"Land Cruisers," Starling repeated. "Look over here." Impatiently, she tugged on Scully's arm, leading her to the second story window and pointing out. "See," she said, gesturing at two lumbering vehicles who edged dangerously through the narrow streets towards the highway that would lead them to the campgrounds.

"You mean RVs? Like what the Cleaver family used to go camping in?"

"Whatever," Starling waved the terminology off. "I got the idea when I was talking to Grace Fitzsimmons yesterday. She said that she and Chris traveled around in one of those things several months out of the year taking their product with them. 'All the comforts of home,' she said. The bastard has his own portable fucking crime scene! We've just been looking at it wrong."

"That's why there hasn't been any trace evidence," Scully muttered, the realization sliding easily into place. "It's because it's all in the RV."

"Now, look at this." Starling strode back across the room, grabbing her briefcase and throwing it open. Pulling out a well-thumbed road atlas, she flipped it open to a map of the United States cross-hatched with highway listings. "He starts here in California. In Eureka. Lots of hiking, outdoor stuff. An RV wouldn't look out of place there. Now he probably has to stick to the main highways because that thing really won't handle on the back roads, and there are places to stop where he wouldn't draw attention to himself. His next kill is in Flagstaff. If he comes straight down I-101 and catches I-40, the drive's only a couple of days at the max."

"But he doesn't kill for another month."

"Bingo. He picks out his mark, watches her, and waits until the time is right."

Scully's finger raced over the thin red line connecting Flagstaff to Elk City, Oklahoma. "It's a straight shot on 40 to reach Elk City. And the drive is shorter."

"He probably sticks around Flagstaff for a little while. Watches the local blue boys find the body. Maybe he even asks to help, but I doubt it. Then he goes to Jackson, Mississippi. Which I don't get."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, see... it's a straight shot from Flagstaff to Asheville across I-40. All the murders-- Flagstaff, Elk City, Murfreesboro and Asheville-- are on 40. Except the murder in Jackson."

"Murfreesboro and Asheville come after Jackson."

"Yeah. Like he got right back on 40 and just kept on coming."

"Eureka wasn't on 40. He had to drive down the entire coast just to get to 40."

"But he started out there, so that's where initial trigger probably was."

"What about the earlier murders? The ones three and six months before this series."

"Everett and Wenatchee. Both in Washington state."

Scully arched a questioning brow.

"I've got people up there now, asking around. Maybe he's a local."

"Portland's not too far either." Scully frowned. "Come to think of it, it's pretty similar to Asheville. Bigger, of course, but the same kind of artsy, outdoorsy crowd. I seem to remember a magazine article about it, calling it one of the best places to live for gay women."

"So he starts out in Portland? Drives down the California coast and then catches the I-40 so he can come to Asheville?" Starling pursed her lips and considered the map. "It's possible."

"Clarice..." Scully hesitated, not sure how to say the next words. Her own instinct was nudging her, set in motion by a conversation they had on the first night. "Don't you think it's time we stopped calling the killer he?"

"Meaning?" Level eyes stared back at her, unhostile, encouraging her to continue.

"That first night we talked about the murders, you said that it all seemed too tidy. You said the mental pathology classified the killer as a sexual sadist, but that the behavior wasn't entirely consistent with a true sadist."

"Not enough pure destruction." As if cutting off someone's breast and hands wasn't violent enough.

"Right. If we're right about the victims' sexuality-- the wounds take on an entirely different significance. A moral or philosophical one maybe. The killer isn't a sadist at all. In fact, I don't even think it's a man."

"Scully, historically 99% of the identified serial killers are men."

"That leaves 1% that isn't."

"I'm aware of that, Dana." Starling ran an agitated hand through her hair. "But women who commit multiple murders typically kill family members. The Aileen Wurnous's of the world are extraordinarily rare. And she killed men."

"Maybe this killer is some weird amalgam of both. Maybe one of the victims is a family member." Scully was rapid-firing off hypotheses, keeping the momentum of their exchange going. They were close, even she could feel it now. "Maybe the first one. That could have been the trigger."

"Maybe," Starling allowed, her eyes drawn back to the map beneath their hands. Idly she traced the I-40 route, veering off to the Jackson, Mississippi murder, and then back to I-40. Her finger stopped on the red circle, tapping it lightly. "Scully..." her voice shook raggedly. "Who was the third victim?"

Taken aback more by her partner's tone than the question, Scully flipped quickly through the folders, pulling out the appropriate file, her eyes fixing on the decedent's name.

"Veronica Harris."

* * *

 

"Starling, are you sure this is the smartest thing you've ever done?" Scully grimaced as the creaking police four-door narrowly missed the on-coming traffic. "We're not even sure she's at the motel." They had left Robert Merriam and a few park rangers combing through aerial and terrain maps, searching for the most remote location in the area that still allowed RV access. It had to be someplace isolated, yet accessible to such a bulky vehicle, which narrowed down their choices considerably.

"She's there," Starling promised grimly. "She's waiting for us."

"We don't know that she's who we're looking for."

"I'm aware of that, Dana."

"Just making sure."

"But I think she knows who it is," Starling continued. "Or least has a very good idea."

"Why? What's the point? Why would she be letting us stew in our own juices for so long? Good god, Clarice, I know she's got her own agenda... but her own sister was one of the victims."

"I think that's when it changed. If you remember, that's when she came to me," Starling replied grimly, wincing when the car's tires squealed as they skidded into the parking lot of the Motel 6. "Come on."

It took only a flash of Scully's badge and the sudden appearance of Starling's gun to persuade the clerk to tell them Belinda Harris' room number. After warning the young fellow that this was a federal matter, Scully and Starling took the stairs two at a time to the fifth floor. Pausing at the stair landing, Starling checked the clip of her Glock and replaced it in its holster, leaving the snap unlatched. "You really think that's going to be necessary?"

Starling shrugged, pausing a moment as if to consider her next words. "After I took Bill down, what the Bureau didn't tell anybody in its press releases was that I got there completely by accident. There was a moment-- no more than an instant, really-- where I could have ended it all in the kitchen if I had been a little faster, a little more prepared. Maybe he wouldn't be dead now."

"But what he did to those girls..." Scully protested helplessly.

"I took his life, Dana. That wasn't my right." She glanced at her lover. "I don't know how to explain it any better."

Scully brushed the sleeve of Clarice's blazer, barely touching the warm flesh beneath it. "When this is over..."

"I know-- you, me, and some long talks. You can tell me I'm crazy."

"You're not crazy, Clarice. In fact, you may be the sanest person I've ever met."

Starling rolled her eyes and gestured at the stairwell door. "I'd argue that statement with you, but we've got something more pressing to attend to at the moment."

In silent accord, they moved smoothly through the doorway, Scully going high and right, Starling slipping low and left. The hallway was deserted, and they found Belinda's door with ease. Despite the "No Smoking" symbol on the door, both agents could smell the stale odor of smoke and cigarettes. Thinking of other doors, other cigarettes and the man who smoked them, Scully unconsciously shivered.

"You okay?" Starling muttered.

Scully only nodded and pointed at the door. "Shall I?"

"By all means."

Knocking sharply on the metal door, the partners were surprised to hear Harris immediately reply. "It's open."

A brief exchange of glances brought both their service weapons out.

"It's Clarice Starling, Belinda."

"So what? Come on or stand out there shouting. I could give a damn."

Tentatively Starling twisted the knob until it clicked, then pushed the door open slowly with her foot-- each woman on either side of the doorway. They could see the king-sized expanse of the bed covered in a hideously pink-and-green comforter, a large overnight bag open on top of it with its contents strewn untidily about. "What are you doing, Belinda?" Starling called to the still-invisible woman.

Scully edged into the room, eyes roving constantly about her, looking for the ungainly bulk of Belinda Harris as Starling slipped in behind her. Pushing open the bathroom door, Starling couldn't contain the sharp bark of surprise that escaped her as she was confronted with the reporter's half-naked body leaning over the sink.

"Jesus!" The Sig bumped noisily against the bathroom molding as she lowered it, realizing her opponent wielded nothing more dangerous than a toothbrush.

"What are you doing?" Harris demanded, a smirk of amusement curling her frothing lips into some odd parody of a rabid animal. "Put that fucking cannon down before you hurt somebody." She vigorously rinsed her mouth, spitting emphatically into the sink and wiping her mouth. "Took you guys long enough."

Scully backed out of the tiny bathroom until she stood beside Starling, both their guns hanging loosely in their hands. She didn't know what was more disconcerting, the sight of the plain white, serviceable undergarments Harris wore or the fact that she was standing in this woman's hotel room with her lover, ostensibly looking for a serial killer. Suddenly feeling like she was in a very bad comedy of manners, Scully tossed the reporter a shirt from the pile on the bed. "Why don't you put this on?"

Harris caught the shirt easily in one hand and shrugged it over her shoulders, her eyes dancing between the women with interest. Noting the Glock dangling from Starling's hand and the larger Sig in Dana's, she snickered. "Who knew you were such a size queen, Scully?"

Starling ignored the comment. "I believe you have some information for us."

"You want information, watch CNN."

"Did you really lead us this far just to keep playing the same game?" Starling snorted. "I'm starting to get bored, Belinda. Time to take it up a notch."

"Who is she?" Scully asked. "We know how and we're pretty close to where she is. All we need is the who and the why will pretty much take care of itself."

"I think you missed your calling, Agent Scully. All the W's covered-- you could have been a reporter." Belinda sighed and dropped awkwardly into a chair by the window. "Who figured out that it was a woman?"

Starling jerked a thumb at her partner. "She did."

"From something Clarice had mentioned to me earlier."

"What teamwork." Harris leaned back and opened the tiny refrigerator perched on the table beside her. "Ya'll want a beer?" she asked, a soft Southern burr creeping into her voice. "I could use one."

"Who is she?" Scully repeated.

Belinda sighed and cracked the Rolling Rock open, taking a long drink before regarding the two women in front of her. "My sister," she said at last.

"Your sister's dead."

"My other sister, you nitwit. Ronnie's twin."

\---------------------------------

"It wasn't until Ronnie that... well, I realized what was going on."

"That's when you came to me."

"I should have known, after what happened in Portland, the way Ronnie left, that she would do something." Harris passed a weary hand over her face. "Renee's never been quite... right. But Ronnie always looked out for her. Took the brunt of the blame for stuff Renee got into when we were kids."

"What did Renee get into?"

Belinda looked at Starling scornfully. "I'm sure you're familiar all the warning signs, Agent Starling. I mean your Messrs Douglas and Crawford literally did write the book on criminal classification and the evolution of budding serial killers. She liked to destroy stuff. Smash it, burn it, kill it. Whatever she could do."

"Ronnie admitted to doing all this just to protect her sister?" Scully asked doubtfully.

"Of course not," Harris replied, as if to a particularly dull-witted student. "She covered it up. What she couldn't cover up, she managed to at least distort enough that nobody ever added up everything that Renee did and got worried."

"And you? Where were you in all this?"

"Watching," she said simply, as if it explained everything. And in a way it did. The bond between Ronnie and Renee had been absolute, inviolate. Belinda, the family recorder of events, never the participant.

"And now?"

She shrugged. "I should have known that it would finish here. It's where it all started-- where we all started."

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "You're from Asheville." Renee's flight down I-40 had been a homecoming of sorts. Stopping only long enough to see her sister on the way. "You said something happened in Portland... that set all this off."

"Renee and Ronnie lived there. They had always lived together-- shared a room when we were kids, the dorm in college, and then later." Belinda seemed to hesitate, choosing her words slowly. "They were close."

"Were they lovers?"

Harris shook her head rapidly, a hot flush streaking her face. "I don't know," she replied too quickly. Scully shot a quick glance at Starling, but her attention was focused firmly on the woman across from them.

"What makes you think that Renee is responsible for what's been happening?"

"Because six months ago, Ronnie told me that she was leaving Portland. She had met somebody and fallen in love. That she had given Renee over thirty years of her life, and finally wanted something that was hers alone."

"And this someone was a woman."

"Some ex-military dyke who was moving back to Jackson. She wanted Ronnie to go with her."

"And Ronnie did."

"The murders started a month later."

"There were murders in Washington state three and six months before that."

Belinda nodded. "You do your homework, Agent Starling. Ronnie had figured out what was going on. That Renee knew she was seeing that woman-- and that was the last straw. I think one reason she moved to Jackson was because she was afraid Renee was going to come after Ronnie's lover."

"Why didn't she just go to the police?" Scully asked.

Harris shot Starling a look before answering Scully. "Don't you get it, Red? Ronnie never told. Telling would be like turning herself in. Renee and Ronnie were part of each other. Renee always said that they should have been Siamese twins, but that something went wrong-- and they were separated. Renee was always trying to get that back."

"So why did she kill Ronnie instead of Ronnie's lover?"

"She was coming home, Starling. She stopped in Jackson to try and persuade Ronnie to come with her."

"When Ronnie said no she completed the separation-- didn't she? She became someone Renee didn't know."

"A stranger," Belinda confirmed.

"So Renee tore her up," Starling finished.

"Do you think maybe you could have come forward a little bit sooner?" Scully asked, enraged that Harris could just sit back and watch, the way she had for so many years ago."

"She did, Scully," Clarice replied softly. "She came to me."

"And left out a few pertinent details," Scully replied heatedly. "Like Renee's name and description. Three more people are dead now, and a fourth missing because nobody in that family will tell on their big sister. That's crazy, Clarice. And criminal."

"Then arrest me, Agent Scully, because I really don't give a shit. I honestly thought it would stop after what happened to Ronnie."

"Something didn't just happen to Ronnie," Scully retorted. "Renee murdered her. Remember? And if either one of you had owned up to what exactly Renee was before now, maybe nobody would be dead and Renee might have gotten some help. Or at least been put someplace where she couldn't have harmed anyone."

"Scully, stop," Clarice warned, her voice low and ardent. "None of that matters right now."

"Then when is it going to matter, Starling? Is it going to matter Grace Fitzsimmons when we can't get to her lover in time? How many nightmares is her silence worth to you, Clarice? How many more faces do you have to see now because our reporter here only reports the news, she doesn't make it."

"STOP!" Starling's word was strangled and harsh, the syllable drawn out of the deepest part of her gut where her own burning need not to tell of the horrors she knew was buried.

A suspended silence dangled over the women broken only by the shrill cry of the cell phone in Dana's blazer. "Scully," she snapped.

"It's Robert Merriam, Agent Scully. We think we've located the RV. A couple of my guys tracked down the Forestry guy in charge of one of the parks. Says that he rented a real isolated spot to a single woman driving a Crown Marquis fifth wheel-- that's an RV pulled by a regular pick-up truck. Sounds like it could be her."

"You haven't gone up to the site yet?"

"No, ma'am," he replied vehemently. "I called you first thing."

"How soon can you be at the Motel 6?"

"Ten minutes, maybe fifteen."

"Good, get here ASAP, detective. You can show us the way."

"Will do, ma'am."

Scully flipped the phone shut and studied her partner. "Merriam thinks they've located the RV. He'll be here in about fifteen minutes to show us the way."

Starling opened her mouth, but Belinda Harris's quiet voice interrupted her. "She's not there."

"What makes you say that?" Starling's words were clipped, her eyes intent upon their subject-- as if she could make the invisible rise to the surface and dance.

"She wants to go home," Harris intoned. "Remember? Home isn't some cramped RV filled with the smell of death and blood. She's here now. She'll go home."

Scully could see the split second Clarice took to make her decision. "Scully, you and Merriam go check out the RV. If it is Renee's get a Bureau CSU out here. I've got one standing by in Charlotte that can chopper in within the hour. Don't let any of the locals touch anything."

"And where are you going to be?" As if she didn't already know the answer to the question, she asked it anyway-- hoping to whatever God she still believed in that the answer wouldn't be what she was going to hear.

"Belinda and I are going home."

\---------------------------------

"You sure Agent Starling's gonna be okay?" Robert Merriam's anxious face peered at her as the Asheville City Police Jeep Cherokee raced around the twisted roads leading them to the campgrounds.

_No..._ Scully wanted to scream, no she wasn't sure at all that Clarice was going to be okay. She had just let her lover walk out of a hotel room in the company of the sister of a suspected serial killer. The deed to the old Harris house had passed into Belinda's hands upon her parents' deaths, and she had kept it-- unoccupied and untended-- ever since. Scully had given Clarice her cell phone and made her promise to call as soon as they arrived at the locale. Still, something indistinct and elusive ghosted the back of her neck, making the tiny hairs there rise with apprehension.

"Robert..." she turned to the detective sitting tensely beside her. "How long have you lived here?"

"Born and raised, ma'am."

"Would you call Asheville a pretty small town?"

"Well..." he hesitated. "It's grown a lot, mostly in the last ten years with a lot of folks coming here because they like the pace of the place. The mountains and the clean air, you know. But the heart of the town, yeah, I'd say it's still pretty small."

"I know this is going to sound crazy-- but do you remember a family, the Harrises?" Scully knew the odds of him actually knowing Belinda's family were a million to one, but she had to ask the question. If only because of this nagging sensation that she was missing something very important.

"The Harrises?"

"Right. They had twin daughters-- Veronica and Renee. And another daughter, Belinda. Probably a few years older than you. Well... more like ten years."

Merriam rubbed his face in recollection, and Scully could almost see the faces passing behind his eyes as he searched his memory. Finally, he shook his head slowly. "I'm sorry, Agent Scully, I sure don't."

Scully's shoulders slumped in defeat. "That's okay, Detective, it was a long shot. Thanks anyway." She glanced over the driver's shoulder at the winding road leading them closer to the campsite when she caught the quizzical brown eyes of the County Sheriff in the passenger seat regarding her in the rearview mirror. "There a problem, Sheriff?"

Thick brows just beginning to flake with gray furrowed together. "You talking about Paula and Stew Harris's girls?"

Feeling her mouth drop open in astonishment, Scully only nodded. "I think those were her parents' names. Let me check." The tight confines of the Cherokee made locating Veronica Harris's file difficult, but she eventually separated it and pulled it from her briefcase. "That's right, Paula and Stewart Harris. Did you know the family?"

"Well... I went to school with Belinda and Ronnie, but they weren't twins. And there wasn't any other girl." The sheriff's face twisted grimly. "And bein' honest, ma'am. After Belinda, I don't rightly blame them for stopping."

Icy tendrils began working their way down Scully spine, prodding dormant nerve endings into frightened awareness. "What do you mean? There wasn't a third daughter?"

"No ma'am. Just the two."

"What do you remember about them?" she prompted.

The Sheriff shook his head slowly. "Look... I don't know a whole lot about those fancy profiling methods you and the Bureau are always talking about, and I know that hardship can make a person do some awful stuff. But those two girls-- they never wanted for anything. Their momma and daddy thought the sun rose and set on them. But still... if I could say anybody was ever born bad, it'd be those two girls."

Missing pieces started falling into place, and Scully knew with painful awareness what she had been missing. "Give me your phone," she snapped at Merriam, beyond caring about protocol and Bureau relations. Snatching the small object from his hand, she flipped it open and punched her number from memory. The phone rang endlessly before the familiar hum of her voice mail picked up. Growling in frustration, she slapped the phone off and leaned forward to tap the shoulder of the driver. "Turn this goddamned Jeep around."

"What--" The driver half-turned in his seat, a questioning expression on his face.

"Sheriff, do you remember where her parents used to live?"

"They had a real nice house, out past Blackstock road. Rambling old place, with a creek in the back. I only went out there the once-- for a birthday party when Ronnie turned twelve. All the kids from the school was there. Her daddy gave her a labrador puppy, cutest thing. Everybody was filling up on cake and ice cream, never noticed them sneaking off with the pups. Except for me. I was kinda sweet on Ronnie, so when I caught sight of them disappearing around the corner of the house with the dog-- I followed them."

"What did you see?" Scully asked, bile rising in her throat.

"They drowned that pup, Agent Scully. Without even blinking. I think it was just to see the pain in its eyes."

Blood thundered in Scully's ears while her heart raced frantically to get out of her chest. Starling was alone with a madwoman. "Can you get us to that house?"

"I can try."

"Don't try, Sheriff. Do it."

\---------------------------------

"Ah... alone at last, Agent Starling." With some difficulty, Belinda pushed open the warped front door and bowed grandly at Clarice.

Starling proceeded her into the house, turning around to face the larger woman. "Isn't this what you wanted, Belinda?" she paused slightly. "Or would you prefer that I call you Renee?"

An eerily peaceful smile broke over the reporter's face. "How long have you known?"

"Since the hotel room."

"And you still came with me alone? Kinda dumb, if you ask me."

"Well, you've never thought I was the brightest bulb on the tree. Besides, I wouldn't dream of interfering with your scenario. Not when you've gone to such lengths to bring it about."

"And not to mention that you don't want your girlfriend anywhere near a psycho killer who likes to carve up dykes like her."

"There is that," Starling conceded.

"How gentlemanly," Harris mocked. "Shall we get to it?"

"First tell me where Chris is."

"Chris?"

"The woman you grabbed?"

"She's fine, back at the RV. That one was all your fault. You ran off to DC to be with your girlfriend-- I had to do something to get your head back into the game. So I grabbed the old dyke. That's gonna be you in a few years, Starling." Belinda shuddered delicately.

"Well, at least you won't have to worry about making it into your dotage."

"You never know, Agent Starling. Look at Hannibal Lecter. Now, there's a role model for an aspiring nut case."

Starling cocked her head, wondering where exactly this conversation was leading them. "Good to know that you don't take your mental state too seriously."

"Oh please," Harris snorted rudely. "I've been writing about people like me for years... and the one thing that always drives me crazy-- pardon the expression-- about them is how goddamn prosaic they all are. Not an ounce of style in the lot of them. Just hack-and-slash. Hack-and-slash. All the live-long day. No wonder you're so humorless."

Starling shrugged. "This isn't a Noel Coward play. Sorry about that."

"That's what I liked about your pal, Lecter. Now he had a sense of humor about his work. Snappy dresser too. Though for the life of me, I can't figure out what he saw in you. I mean, after all, that's why I started following your career. I thought to myself, 'If a man like that takes an interest, well, then there must be something special there.'" Harris looking at Starling with something close to pity. "But I gotta tell you, I just haven't found it. I mean, honestly, Clarice. I've been in your face for what now? Years... and you haven't noticed a goddamned thing. I had to read Crawford's fucking manual of crime classification and do a paint-by-numbers for you before you picked up on it. Do you know how fucking boring that book is, Starling? I should kill you just for that."

"You just hate being ignored, don't you Belinda?" Starling jeered. "I saw pictures of Ronnie," Clarice whistled low in her throat. "She was gorgeous-- before you got ahold of her. I bet you were the older, uglier, fatter sister. Everybody called you the 'smart one,' didn't they? Even though it wasn't particularly true. And you hated her for that."

"I loved my sister!" Belinda retorted hotly. Harris shook her head sorrowfully. "God, you really are dumb. No, Starling. I killed her, you moron, so I'd have an excuse to bring the motherfucking crimes to your attention. Get it? I never hated her and I certainly never wanted to fuck her. Although your Agent Scully seemed really quick to want to believe that." She pointed a thick finger at Clarice. "You might want to look into that, Starling. I heard she has a dead sister, you know.

"Ronnie was into that Amazon warrioress crap. I dunno. Is that a dyke thing or what? Anyway. She was moving from Portland to Jackson-- that's no lie-- and when she got to Jackson, she called and asked me to come visit. I was helping her unpack one day and found some rather... interesting photos that she had taken along the I-40."

Starling's stomach clenched convulsively. "She did the murders from Portland to Jackson."

"Oh, finally, Agent Starling joins the game." Belinda clapped mockingly. "About fucking time."

"And you picked up in Jackson."

"Textbook case of rapidly increasing decompensation, wasn't it? The crimes get closer and closer together, the killer's lustful frenzy ever-increasing, bringing her ever-nearer to the brink of complete madness. Only guess what? I'm not there yet. I can still enjoy this."

"Can you?" Starling leaned against a dusty, sheet-draped armchair. "Sounds to me like you're losing it."

"No the fuck I'm not."

"No? Look at it from my point of view. You said yourself that you'd been in my face for years-- I'm sure you don't just mean with your godawful books. But eventually that's not enough. You have to kill your sister to get my attention. And once my attention's on the case, it's not enough for you to just sit back and let it roll. No, you have to be one step ahead of me in the investigation. Coming here to Asheville, giving me the victim's id-- even that's not enough for you. You see, what separates a real master like Lecter from the wannabe's like you is that he had a tremendous sense of timing. He knew when to walk away. His signature was always faint, almost unrecognizable-- but always there if you knew where to look. But this? Confessing your crimes like the villain in the last reel of some '30s melodrama? Just so I'll notice you?" Starling tsked in disapproval. "Lecter would consider this amateur hour. In fact, he'd probably kill you just for being so clumsy. And you wouldn't even be one of his more interesting crimes. He'd just bludgeon you and dump you in a gully somewhere."

"Nice try, Agent Starling, but you're not going to goad me into killing you quickly."

"You're not going to kill me at all." Her voice was flat, unaffected.

"And why is that?"

"Because my partner is aiming-- what did you call it?-- her fucking cannon at the back of your head."

Belinda turned around to face Scully's grim smile. "Game over, Belinda."

* * *

**Epilogue**

**_Three weeks later..._ **

It wasn't the screaming "True Crime Author Turns Criminal" headline, but rather the smaller sidebar article entitled "Noted Profiler Becomes Head of NCAVC" that caught his attention.

"Oh, Clarice, I'm so proud of you..."

Seemingly little effort located the quaint bed-and-breakfast where Starling was taking a long-needed and much-deserved vacation before assuming her new responsibilities.

Her companion, however, was a surprise to him.

He had never conceived of Clarice as anything other than solitary. Like him, her brilliance... her incisiveness... was supposed to render her eternally alone. Traveling down paths that others could not follow. Except now, there was someone new.

His thoughts were his own as he watched Clarice's companion-- the russet of her hair, her eyes a blue that rivaled his own. The breeze brought him the quiet music of their conversation; he could hear only the melody of their low-pitched voices, not the words they were speaking. The night before he had nestled in one of the centuries old oak trees that was closest to their balcony. The faint scent of their lovemaking quivered in his nostrils, and he had politely averted his eyes when he saw the shadowy outline of her lover's body surge over Clarice in pleasure.

The intimacy between her and this... other woman... was subtle, invisible to those who did not speak the language implicit in the tilt of a head or the slow curve of a smile. Seeing Clarice now was like returning to a much beloved masterpiece, only to find in the intervening years it had been restored. The muted soot and ash of a dozen years removed, the colors brilliant beyond belief.

Meaning shifted, darkness lightened.

Today, Clarice Starling sat before him, unaware.

And transformed.

**FINIS**


End file.
